


Elements

by Kittenn1011



Series: Synergy [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Gen, Gen Work, Kid Fic, More dealing with the trauma of having been a slave, Not quite as dark as that makes it sound, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-04 04:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4125852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittenn1011/pseuds/Kittenn1011
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The words “Yes, Master,” come out of Anakin’s mouth so naturally that Obi-Wan suspects they were his first words. The realization comes to him so suddenly: his Padawan still has the mindset of a slave. When he decides to fix that, everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Switching Tracks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Foreword (June 13/2015):**  
>  Welcome to the Synergy 'Verse.
> 
> My Star Wars knowledge consists of the movies, the currently canon television series ( _The Clone Wars_ and _Rebels_ ) and general exposure to fandom. Given that the bulk of this story will take place in-between movies, I’m more or less tossing out EU ( _Legends_ ) events of this story’s timeframe and working the plot from scratch. I am, however, filling in character-related, setting-related, and universe-related blanks through EU material as learned in Wookiepedia research. Please, if I’ve got anything wrong in that regard beyond reasonable allowances, feel free to tell me so I can fix what’s fixable and not make the same mistake again.
> 
> A quick word about potential ships: I’m not sure exactly where this will end up. I rarely go into a plot with full intention of shipping— Anakin is nine right now, so it’s not really my biggest concern— but I will eventually lean in whatever direction comes naturally. Of course I’ll likely be dealing with Anakin/Padmé at some point, but nobody be surprised by Anakin/Obi-Wan slashy undertones in the (far-off) future? I doubt there will be any pairings at all in this installation, but I will tag pairings on both the series itself and relevant works when I commit to anything.
> 
> Huge thanks to my lovely beta, BeautyOnFyre. You're a wonderful help with both catching my flubs and bouncing ideas off. Any remaining mistakes are my own. 
> 
> So, now that we’re through the housekeeping… this is definitely a fic inspired by my unquenchable, gnawing desire for Anakin to be happy in some universe. I want our heroes to earn it, and despite the fact that Anakin’s the one directly at fault for Anakin’s fall, Obi-Wan and Padmé definitely weren’t much help with it in canon. Mostly I think all three of them were trying to ignore the signs and pretend there will never be a problem. I’m going about that with a clean canon divergence (as in a single-point that changes the course of the galaxy): Obi-Wan meeting Anakin just a bit earlier in a different situation leading to him really, truly wanting to be Anakin’s teacher right from the start and actually understanding Anakin’s background a bit better. From there, comes change. Let’s see where that goes?

The Force tingled uncomfortably. Obi-Wan couldn’t brush off the wrongness of the feeling. It started niggling in the back of his mind as they landed on Tatooine, and at first he thought it was just the filth of greed and hate that clung to backwater, gangster-controlled, crime-infested planets, but no. It was growing stronger by the minute. Something was going to happen, and it wasn’t going to be good.

Obi-Wan poked at the wiring before him once again, as if that would fix the problem. He knew it wouldn’t. The pilots already put their combined mechanical ability to the task of figuring out what was wrong and explained to the Jedi exactly why they weren’t getting out of the problem without requisitioning a completely new generator.

His master was approaching. Obi-Wan wasn’t quite sure why. The astromech droid already took a readout of what they’d need for him, so he had no reason to return to the engine room. Nobody did at that point, which was exactly why Obi-Wan was there, pretending to be checking out the broken hyper-drive. He was hiding.

When Qui-Gon entered the room, Obi-Wan straightened up. “The hyperdrive generator is gone, Master,” Obi-Wan reminded him. “We’ll need a new one.”

Qui-Gon grimaced. “That _will_ complicate things.” Before Obi-Wan could respond, he continued. “Be wary.” Oh. So that was what brought his Master down. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “I sense a disturbance in the Force.”

“I feel it also, Master,” said Obi-Wan.

“Don’t let them send any transmissions,” said Qui-Gon, and he hurried away.

Obi-Wan wasn’t quite sure why he did it, but dropped his tool and followed after Qui-Gon, just slow enough to not seem deliberate, though he doubted he was fooling his master. Something in the Force told him he should be out there.

He waved off the small party, not quite sure what the Force wanted him to see. It took only a minute or two before he figured it out: Captain Panaka trudged through the door, trailed _by Her Highness’s Royal Handmaiden, Padmé_. Obi-Wan, of course, wasn’t stupid. He and his master had decided to split up so that at least one of them could put their attention towards protecting the Queen. That would be for naught if the Queen took off with Qui-Gon.

He said to the pilots in the doorway, “Under no circumstances send any transmissions. If anyone even considers it, call me or Master Qui-Gon instead. This is a matter of security,” and then caught up to Captain Panaka and the Queen.

As the three reached Qui-Gon, R2-D2, and Jar-Jar— why was Master Qui-Gon taking Jar-Jar with him?— Panaka yelled out, “Wait.”

Jar-Jar turned quickly in surprise, but Qui-Gon moved as if he’d been expecting the shout to come.

“Wait,” Panaka repeated, his voice completely unenthusiastic. When they were close enough to properly talk, he said mechanically, “Her Highness commands you to take her handmaiden with you.” Clearly, Captain Panaka didn’t think it was any better an idea than Obi-Wan did.

Qui-Gon caught Obi-Wan’s eye for a quick moment before turning to Panaka. “No more commands from her Highness today, Captain.” To Queen Amidala, he added, “The spaceport is not going to be pleasant.”

“The Queen wishes it.” Panaka’s voice was stronger. If Obi-Wan didn’t know better, he’d say that based on that, it sounded like he was actually in support of her Highness’ crazy wish. Which he wasn’t, so perhaps it was just because he didn’t like Qui-Gon dismissing her? “She’s curious about the planet.”

Qui-Gon sighed deeply, but in resignation.

“Master,” Obi-Wan piped up, “I could watch the civilians while you search for the parts we need.” Maybe a little nudge could remind her Highness that she’d just be a burden on such a trip?

For a moment, Qui-Gon opened his mouth to protest, but glancing at Queen Amidala again, he closed it. He had to know as well as Obi-Wan that Padmé was the real Queen and they needed to ensure her protection above all else, wherever she may be.

“This is not a good idea,” said Qui-Gon. “Stick close to my Padawan.” After a moment’s pause, he added, “Jar-Jar, that goes for you, as well.”

As they walked off, Obi-Wan had to wonder who her Highness thought she was fooling with that disguise.

The small group travelled in silence. Qui-Gon, with his long legs and even longer strides, took the lead, setting their hasty pace. Obi-Wan matched it only a few steps behind, with Jar-Jar moving comfortably on his left and Queen Amidala lightly jogging at his right. At the tail end of their line, R2-D2 rolled along.

The buildings of Mos Espa had roofs shaped vaguely like domes, and were the same colour of the sand. Even some of the outdoor machinery was painted to match. A few doors were almost orange, but besides that, only the locals had colour distinguishable from the Tatooine landscape. Not all the locals— many wore tan and brown colours like Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon dressed in— but others wore dull purples or blues or blacks. Or they, themselves, were coloured different from the landscape— Obi-Wan spotted quite a few green species almost immediately, and they passed some blues and oranges as well.

Queen Amidala watched them. “Who would live here?” she wondered quietly.

Qui-Gon slowed. “Moisture farmers, for the most part,” he answered carefully. “Some indigenous tribes and scavengers. A few spaceports like this one are havens for those that don’t wish to be found.”

“Like us,” intoned the Queen.

Jar-Jar said, “Disem very very bad,” from quite farther behind them than Obi-Wan had realized Jar-Jar was. He and Qui-Gon exchanged a glance that communicated his intentions before he left the Queen with his master and walked a few meters back to grab Jar-Jar’s wrist and drag him along and make sure that R2-D2 didn’t get lost in the crowds.

All six came to stop just past an intersection. Qui-Gon looked down the street to the left, and then the one to the right. Queen Amidala watched him, and then she followed his gaze, though didn’t seem to know what he was looking for. “We’ll try one of the smaller dealers,” Qui-Gon announced.

Queen Amidala followed at his heels, and Obi-Wan, still dragging Jar-Jar with him, moved to her side. “Remember you two,” he mumbled, “don’t stray.” It was more to Jar-Jar than to the Queen, but still, she seemed to be quite eager to walk with his master rather than him.

A bell dinged as they walked into a shop. A Toydarian quickly flew up from the desk to greet them. “Hi chuba da naga?”

Obi-Wan wasn’t quite familiar with that language, but it certainly didn’t sound like a polite hello to him.

“I need parts for a J-type 327 Nubian,” said Qui-Gon.

“Ah yes.” Oh good, he spook Standard. “Nubian! We have lots of that.” He spun around to yell back, “Peedenkel! Naba dee unko.”

When the Toydarian faced them again, Qui-Gon continued, “My droid here has a readout of what I need.”

A short moment passed, and the sound of small feet running across soft sand approached from the junk heap behind the shop.

“Coona tee-tocky malia?” The Toydarian raised his hand in the air, threateningly, like he was about to swing at the child, who flinched at the moment.

“Mel tassa cho-passa...”

“Chut-Chut!” he interrupted. “Ganda doe wallya. Me dwana no bata.” As the boy obediently climbed onto the counter, the Toydarian turned to Qui-Gon once again. “Soooo, let me take a thee out back. Ni you'll find what you need.” He chuckled.

Qui-Gon and R2-D2 followed him through the back door.

Obi-Wan looked away from his retreating master to find Jar-Jar messing with… something. Obi-Wan yanked it out of his hand and put it down on the shelf next to him. “Don’t touch anything.”

Jar-Jar made a dissatisfied noise, stalked across the store, and began staring into the eye of a deactivated droid.

Obi-Wan moved back over to Queen Amidala, but kept his eye on Jar-Jar. It wouldn’t be long before he found more trouble, Obi-Wan was sure.

“Are you angels?” the boy said, suddenly.

The Queen and Obi-Wan both turned to stare at him, and he stared back at them, continuing to clean the gizmo in his hands.

“What?” she said.

“Angels,” the boy repeated. “I’ve heard the deep-space pilots talk about them. They’re the most beautiful creatures in the entire universe.”

The Queen took a few steps closer to him. Obi-Wan, on the other hand, took a few steps back, but his lips twitched, holding back a smile. Younglings said the silliest things at that age.

“They live on the moons of Iago, I think.”

“You’re a funny little boy,” the Queen finally responded. “How do you know so much?”

“I listen to all the traders and the starpilots who come through here.” His face brightened considerably, as if he’s stumbled onto a subject he particularly liked. “I’m a pilot. And someday, I’m going to fly away from this place.”

Oh. Obi-Wan could make a guess about what he was doing in that shop, and it wasn’t a pleasant thought.

“You’re a pilot?” asked the Queen, her voice amused.

“Mhm,” said the boy. “All my life.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since I was very little. Three, I think.” Oh, Force. And how long before the Toydarian started…? That instinctual flinch had to come from somewhere, and it certainly wasn’t from before the age of three. “My mom and I were sold to Gardulla the Hutt, but she lost us betting on the podraces.”

The Queen seemed taken aback. “You’re a slave?” Clearly, she hadn’t caught on as quickly as Obi-Wan would have expected. Of course, he’d actually encountered slavery and the like in his work as a Jedi, while it was just some distant issue that the Republic had outlawed to people who never saw into the Outer Rim.

“I’m a person,” said the child, defiantly, “and my name is Anakin.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t hide his smile at that. He quite liked the boy, actually. Anakin.

“I’m sorry,” said the Queen, quickly, averting her eyes to inspect the ceiling as if it had the answers. “I don’t fully understand; this is a strange place to me.”

A clang across the room caught Obi-Wan’s attention. He, Queen Amidala, and Anakin turned to its source: Jar-Jar. Somehow, he’d activated the droid that he had been staring at. It bounced away from him and began running across the room. Jar-Jar pursued, tripping on junk and knocking over merchandise almost immediately. The droid began to cackle at him.

“Hey!” Anakin said loudly. Jar-Jar picked up the droid by its neck, and it kicked him in response. “Hit the nose.”

The Queen was smiling at Jar-Jar’s antics, but Obi-Wan was not. Qui-Gon’s pet lifeforms could be such menaces sometimes. The poor slave boy would likely get into huge trouble if his master returned to find a mess in the shop. Obi-Wan yanked the droid out of Jar-Jar’s hands and tapped the nose, deactivating the droid. “What did I say about not touching anything?”

Jar-Jar had the decency to look ashamed of his actions.

“Stay there,” said Obi-Wan. “In that spot. Don’t even move unless you suddenly learn how to deal with other’s possessions. Or, more precisely, how not to.” He turned away from Jar-Jar and back to Anakin and the Queen. He really did not have the patience to babysit Jar-Jar when he had to be watching the reckless Queen of Naboo.

Anakin shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“We apologize for our friend here. He doesn’t mean any harm.” Jar-Jar was just oblivious.

He heard Jar-Jar shuffling behind him. Obi-Wan took a deep breath. “Anakin,” he said, “will you be in much trouble if the shop is a mess when your master returns?”

Jar-Jar stopped moving. He was oblivious, sure, but not completely braindead.

Anakin opened his mouth to respond, but Jar-Jar cut him off. “Mesa sorry, Ani,” he said quietly. “Mesa didn’t realize…”

With a small smile, Anakin said, “Don’t worry about it. It would take a bit more of a mess than this to get Watto angry.”

“I’d rather not risk that either way,” Obi-Wan said, pointedly glancing at Jar-Jar, who nodded sheepishly. “You’re a sweet boy, Anakin.”

Anakin turned red and fidgeted awkwardly. “You’re pretty wizard too,” he said. “Not many people around here care what happens to the slaves. But Watto’s a much better master than most. Though, I probably wouldn’t have lasted long anyways if I wasn’t so good at building things.”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by Qui-Gon striding past. “We’re leaving,” he said, and was already through the door by the time he’d finished speaking.

“Jar-Jar?” Obi-Wan said. “Padmé?”

Jar-Jar quickly jumped to attention and began hurrying after Qui-Gon, giving Anakin a quick wave as he exited.

Queen Amidala nodded to Obi-Wan as they left and, to Anakin, said, “I’m glad to have met you.”

“I’m glad to meet you too,” Anakin called after her.

Qui-Gon led the group through the streets and into a shaded alcove, where he came to a stop. They crowded together out of the sun and Qui-Gon finally spoke. “He doesn’t take republic credits.”

Obi-Wan sighed. “We should have figured that, I suppose.”

Queen Amidala crossed her arms. “Republic credits are supposed to be good everywhere. They’re valid currency—”

“Not out here,” said Qui-Gon. “They need something _more real_. Nothing I said could convince him.”

“Well, then there must be someone else—”

“He said there was no one else. And seeing as how I have nothing he wants, I suspect he was being honest.”

Obi-Wan nodded in agreement. “There’s no reason to keep you from going to the competition when you’ve got no money either way.”

Qui-Gon glanced to Queen Amidala. “Is there anything on the ship we can barter with?”

She shook her head. “Nothing, I suspect, that would be worth anything to anyone here.”

“The ship itself,” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, “though that would defeat the purpose of getting the parts we need. We’re down to one astromech, so that’s out. The Queen’s wardrobe, maybe. But unless we decide to start selling the pilots or the handmaidens, nothing to barter in the amounts you’re thinking.”

The Queen scowled at Obi-Wan.

“Which of course isn’t even an option,” he mumbled. Could her Highness not take a joke?

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow.

“The boy in the shop,” said Queen Amidala. “He’s a slave.”

“Oh,” said Qui-Gon. “I expected as much.”

“Aren’t you going to do anything?”

He shook his head. “What would you have us do? Steal him? They’ve got things to prevent that. Go on a crusade? That would endanger her Highness and our mission. Purchase him? With what.”

She crossed her arms.

“We need to deal with the problem before us,” said Obi-Wan. “We could try shopping around, just in case Watto _was_ lying about being the only one. Maybe someone else might take Republic credits.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “You’re right. Another solution will present itself.” He turned and began into the streets once more.

Jar-Jar grabbed his arm. “Noah gain... da beings hereabouts cawazy. Wesa be robbed un crunched.”

“Not likely,” said Qui-Gon. “We have nothing of value. That’s our problem.”

They’d wandered into a small market, with a few outdoor eateries of sorts and vendors lining the streets. Obi-Wan kept his eye on the Queen, and it took him a moment to realize that Jar-Jar had fallen behind. He was even harder to deal with than excited younglings with their first proper lightsabers— which, yes, included potential for limb loss.

He turned around to find Jar-Jar on the ground, a strange alien’s hand— foot?— around his neck. Before Obi-Wan could rush to his rescue, though, the little slave from the shop— Anakin— had approached.

“Chess ko, Sebulba. Cha porko ootman geesa.” Anakin grinned mischievously. “Me teesa rodda co pana pee choppa chawa.”

The alien replied, his voice deep and threatening, “Neek me chowa, wermo, mo killee ma klounkee. Una noto wo shag, me wompity du pom pom.” He began stalking away.

“Eh, chee bana do mullee ra,” Anakin said to the alien’s retreating back.

Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon, and Queen Amidala, with R2-D2 on their tail, approached him.

“Hi!” said Anakin.

“Hi there,” said Qui-Gon, watching the boy carefully.

Anakin squirmed. “Your buddy here was about to be turned into orange goo. He picked a fight with a Dug. An especially dangerous Dug called Sebulba.”

“Mesa hate crunchen. Dat's da last ting mesa wanten.”

“Then stay where I can keep an eye on you,” said Obi-Wan. “You’re going to get into trouble if you don’t.” He turned to Anakin. “Thank you.”

Anakin smiled at him.

As Qui-Gon began to walk, again, Jar-Jar protested, “Mesa doen nutten!”

Obi-Wan shook his head in defeat. He’d just have to keep a closer eye on Jar-Jar. The Queen could probably take care of herself. The group, including Anakin, continued forward.

“Mesa only wanten to eaten,” Jar-Jar said.

“I can get you something to eat,” Anakin replied. “C’mon.” He hurried into the lead.

Qui-Gon glanced back to Obi-Wan, who shrugged in response and made a gesture to indicate _why not_?

They followed Anakin to a fruit vendor at the edges of the market. Qui-Gon began eyeing up the dunes in the distance as Anakin exchanged pleasantries with her. He was sensing something; Obi-Wan extended his awareness and closed his eyes.

“How are you feeling today, Jira?”

Obi-Wan could sense it too. The entire planet felt of menace and hate, not to mention that tingling feeling of an oncoming malice that they’d been sensing since landing…

“The heat's never been kind to me, you know, Ani.”

This was the feeling of a more immediate danger.

“Guess what? I've found that cooling unit I've been searching for.”

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and followed his master’s gaze across the desert.

“It's pretty beat up, but I'll have it fixed up for you in no time, I promise.”

What was Qui-Gon looking for? Sure, it was a feeling of immediate danger, but Obi-Wan took that to mean he needed to be more alert, not staring into the distance.

“You're a fine boy, Ani.”

What did Qui-Gon feel that Obi-Wan didn’t?

“Here.” Anakin tugged on Obi-Wan’s tunic. “You’ll like these pallies.” He tugged again, and Obi-Wan looked down. “Here.”

Obi-Wan took the three small fruits. “Thank you,” he said. He passed one to Jar-Jar, who popped it into his mouth immediately, and one to Queen Amidala, who inspected it curiously before taking a small bite, and one to Qui-Gon, who lifted his poncho to slip it into a pocket on his belt.

“My bones are aching,” said the woman, Jira. “Storm's coming up, Ani.” She reached across her stand to give Anakin a quick pat on the shoulder. “You'd better get home quick.”

A storm? Was that what Qui-Gon was sensing? Obi-Wan thought he’d have been able to identify a storm himself, but, then again, it was a strange planet.

Anakin looked up to Qui-Gon. “Do you have shelter?” he asked as they began walking again. All the shops were closing their doors and people in stalls were packing up— apparently, everyone knew a storm was coming except for Obi-Wan.

“We'll head back to our ship.”

“Is it far?” His voice was worried.

“It’s on the outskirts,” said Obi-Wan.

“You'll never reach the outskirts in time! Sandstorms are very, very dangerous. C’mon. I’ll take you to my place”

By the time they reached Anakin’s apartment— located in what was probably some sort of slave quarter— the wind had picked up and sand battered their faces. Jar-Jar looked particularly uncomfortable; whose idea was it in the first place to take an aquatic being on an adventure on a desert planet?

Anakin hit the button to open the door and the group stepped inside, ducking to get through the door, out of the blowing sand.

“Mom! Mom! I'm home,” Anakin yelled.

Quite like the shop, the inside of the building felt a little like a man-made cave. Obi-Wan had encountered a few civilizations that chiselled out their homes into rock, and the more of Mos Espa’s architecture he saw, the more he felt they’d done the same: chiselled their homes into sandstone.

“Dissen cozy.”

A woman walked into the entranceway at Anakin’s call. She wore her hair back in a braided bun and ragged clothes not unlike Anakins, coloured as brown as most things in Mos Espa.

“These are my friends, Mom.”

“Herro,” said Jar-Jar.

“I’m Qui-Gon Jinn,” he nodded to Anakin’s mother. “This is Padmé, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jar-Jar Binks, and R2-D2. Your son was kind enough to offer us shelter.”

“I’m Shmi Skywalker. It’s very nice to—”

Anakin turned away from the adults and to Queen Amidala. “I’m building a droid!” he said. “Do you wanna see?”

Obi-Wan exchanged a quick glance with Qui-Gon, and directed his eyes pointedly towards Amidala. Someone had to stay with the Queen.

Qui-Gon returned a small nod, and when Anakin grabbed onto Queen Amidala’s hand and began leading her away— “C’mon, I’ll show you Threepio”— Obi-Wan followed.

The door to the room Anakin led them to was almost comically small: just tall enough for Anakin to get through without ducking. If it were much smaller, R2-D2 would’ve had to stay in the hall. The ceiling wasn’t much better— Obi-Wan had to keep slouching down to prevent himself from hitting his head on it.

It was likely a workroom of some sort. Mechanical bits were scattered across it, shoved onto tables and shelves and hanging from the ceiling. On an alcove under a tiny window, something was covered by a large piece of heavy, brown material. Anakin led them over to it and pulled it off to reveal a mess of wires and metal in a vaguely humanoid shape: an unfinished droid.

“Isn’t he great?” said Anakin.

“He’s wonderful,” said the Queen.

“Impressive,” said Obi-Wan.

R2-D2 made a few beeps.

“You really like him?” Anakin grinned. “He’s a protocol droid to help Mom. Watch.” He reached over a pressed a button on the droid’s chest. Its properly connected eye immediately lit up.

“Oh!” said the droid. “Oh. Where is everybody?”

“Oops.” Anakin reached to a nearby shelf, grabbed the other eye, and popped it into place.

“Oh. Hello.” The droid moved somewhat erratically, but his speech was smooth. “I am C-3PO, human-cyborg relations. How might I serve you?”

“He’s perfect.” Queen Amidala smiled widely.

“When the storm’s over, I’ll show you my racer. I’m building a podracer.”

As Anakin spoke, C-3PO stood up and wobbled across the room. “I’m not sure this floor is entirely stable,” he said.

R2-D2 beeped.

“Oh. Hello. I don’t believe we have been introduced.”

R2-D2 made a few more beeps.

“R2-D2. Oh, pleasure to meet you. I am C-3PO, human-cyborg relations.”

In response, R2-D2 made a variety of beeps. C-3PO seemed to understand him just fine. Perhaps Obi-Wan would benefit from having a protocol droid around to translate all the languages he didn’t speak, including binary.

“I beg your pardon, but what do you mean, _naked_?”

Beeps again.

“My parts are showing? My goodness!”

R2-D2 made a sound that Obi-Wan suspected was a laugh.

Anakin finally stopped grinning at his creation and hurried over. “I think that’s enough for today, Threepio.” He grabbed C-3PO’s wired hand and led him back to the workbench. “Goodnight.” Before C-3PO could respond, Anakin pressed his power button. The lights behind his eyes went out, and he fell limp.

Another beeping noise filled the room, but this time not from R2-D2. Obi-Wan’s communicator was lighting up and making the noise. He glanced to the Queen. She’d be fine for a few minutes. “Excuse me, Anakin, I must take this.”

“Alright,” said Anakin, and Obi-Wan slipped out of the room.

He held the communicator to his lips. “Kenobi.”

“Kenobi, this is Panaka,” said Captain Panaka’s voice. “Are you someplace secure?”

Obi-Wan glanced around him. Anakin was quite loudly explaining something to Queen Amidala in the workroom, so he doubted that Anakin would hear anything Captain Panaka shared with him, if it would even matter anyway if a slave child heard them speak. “More or less.”

It took a moment for Captain Panaka to respond to that. “We received a transmission. From Governor Bibble.”

“Send no response,” Obi-Wan said quickly.

“But, Padawan Kenobi, he said—”

“No response,” Obi-Wan repeated.

“The death toll is catastrophic!” Panaka finally exclaimed.

“So that’s what this is about?” Obi-Wan let out a long sigh. “It’s a trick. Send no transmissions. Of any kind.”

Captain Panaka was silent for a long minute. “But what if it’s true, even if it is a trick? Our people could be dying. The Queen—”

What the Queen didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. But Obi-Wan was pretending he didn’t know that _Padmé-the-Queen’s-Handmaiden_ was actually the Queen herself, so he couldn’t reveal he’d called that bluff.

“It sounds like bait to establish a connection trace.” Obi-Wan wasn’t sure how he could stress the problem any more. He’d go back to the ship, if that was what it took to prevent the security forces, handmaidens, and pilots from bringing down the Trade Federation on them. “I will speak to Master Qui-Gon about it, but I assure you he’ll say the same.”

“Obi-Wan, I sure hope you’ve found that part we need.”

Well, they’d found them alright. Finding them wasn’t exactly the problem. “We’re running out of time, yes, I realize.” Obi-Wan cut the communication and hoped they heeded his advice.

He glanced back into the workroom; Anakin and Queen Amidala were still engrossed in Anakin’s droid. He could easily slip away without them realizing, if they even remembered he was outside the room in the first place. He returned to the front of the home and pulled Qui-Gon from the kitchen.

Once Obi-Wan had quickly briefed him on the situation, Qui-Gon thoughtfully stoked his fingers on his beard. “Once this storm lets out, you should return to the ship.”

“I don’t think they’d do anything to endanger the Queen,” Obi-Wan whispered back. “Not unless it was her decision, and she’s not there to make it.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Nonetheless, I would prefer if we could be certain.”

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan bowed respectfully.

Qui-Gon smiled. “Now run along and get the kids, Padawan. Dinner is almost ready.”

When Obi-Wan returned to the workroom, Anakin and hurried over to him. “Where’d you go? I was going to show you—”

“I went to see how your mother was coming along with dinner,” Obi-Wan interrupted Anakin. “It should be ready any moment, so we should probably head to the table.”

“Wizard!” Anakin exclaimed, and hurried out of the room.

Queen Amidala smiled. To Obi-Wan, she said, “He _is_ quite a sweet boy, isn’t he?”

Obi-Wan shrugged in response. Anakin’s enthusiasm was endearing, and his presence in the force was bright and kind, but there was no point getting attached. They’d be leaving as soon as they could, and leaving Anakin in slavery on a horrible gangster-run planet. Attachment would just lead to guilt. The Queen’s smile was definitely one of growing attachment, and Obi-Wan would regret to see her crushed when they inevitably left Anakin to his fate. That would just be an added difficulty they didn’t need.

They followed Anakin to the kitchen, where Qui-Gon was helping him find more chairs to set around the table. While Obi-Wan grabbed the plates and utensils from Shmi to set the table, Queen Amidala took a seat at one end of it. When Jar-Jar attempted to help pour a cup of water and tripped over Anakin, spilling the liquid all over the floor, the Queen ordered him to sit down as well.

Shmi and Anakin both stopped in their tracks to stare at the spill.

Jar-Jar mumbled, “Mesa sorry.”

Obi-Wan shot him a glare. Shmi and Anakin were slaves on a desert planet. Water would be a commodity more precious than gold, and sharing it with them at all was probably a sacrifice in itself. Spilling it was beyond rude, not to mention—

Qui-Gon snatched the pitcher from Jar-Jar and handed it to Shmi. “I’ll clean that up,” he said, and bent over the spill with a rag. Obi-Wan could feel his master reaching with the Force to collect every last drop of water, and, covering his ball of floating water from view of their hosts with his rag, he brought it over to an empty bucket. He dropped the water into it when Shmi and Anakin returned to their tasks, and left the dry rag hanging on the edge of the container.

Qui-Gon sat down across from Queen Amidala, and Obi-Wan took a seat beside him. Shmi began pouring water into cups on the table. As she began tipping the pitcher into Qui-Gon’s glass, he shook his head. “Don’t worry about me, I’m not thirsty.”

Before she could reach for Obi-Wan’s glass, he said, “I’m fine as well.” He was parched, actually, but he’d be returning to the ship after the storm, and there was plenty of water there.

Anakin leaned over the table to look at Obi-Wan. “So, what are you doing on Tatooine?”

Obi-Wan evaded the question. “Nothing important. I’m more interesting in hearing about what it’s like for you, here.”

“Yes,” Queen Amidala agreed. “I’ve never encountered slavery before. How do they— I mean, what do they— what keeps you… well—”

For a Queen, Obi-Wan would expect her to be able to have more tact when asking about such a sensitive topic, but he supposed there probably was no tactful way of saying what she was trying to say.

“What my companion here is saying,” Qui-Gon said carefully, “is that she’s curious as to how it works.”

Shmi smiled softly, as if expecting the question. “All slaves have a transmitter placed inside their bodies somewhere.”

R2-D2 made an indiscernible series of beeps.

Anakin said, “I’ve been working on a scanner to try and locate mine.”

“Any attempt to escape—”

“And they blow you up!” He slammed his hand against the table. “Boom!”

“How wude,” said Jar-Jar.

Queen Amidala let out a soft gasp of horror. “I can’t believe there’s still slavery in the galaxy. The Republic’s anti-slavery laws are—”

“The Republic doesn’t exist out here.” Shmi took a seat beside the Queen. “We must survive on our own.”

The moment was interrupted by Jar-Jar’s tongue jumping out like a frog’s and grabbing a fruit from the bowl in the middle of the table. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan glared at him. “’Squse me.” He smiled nervously.

The Queen looked back to her plate and poked her food with her fork.

Anakin watched Jar-Jar uncomfortably, and then down to his food. To break the awkward silence, Anakin looked back up and said, “Has anyone ever seen a podrace?”

Queen Amidala shook her head.

“They have podracing on Malastare,” Qui-Gon said. “Very fast. Very dangerous.”

Anakin tapped the table as he spoke. “I’m the only human that can do it.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “You must have Jedi reflexes if you race pods.” Jar-Jar’s tongue shot out of his mouth again, and Qui-Gon grabbed onto it. “Don’t do that again.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. Qui-Gon might as well have announced he was a Jedi with that move.

“You’re a Jedi Knight, aren’t you?”

Ding, ding, ding. Point for Anakin for realizing the obvious.

Padmé eyed Qui-Gon uncomfortably.

Obi-Wan just leaned back in his chair and grinned.

“What was your first clue?” asked Obi-Wan.

Anakin looked from Obi-Wan to Qui-Gon. “I saw your laser sword,” he said. “Only Jedi carry that kind of weapon.”

“Perhaps I killed a Jedi and took it from him,” Qui-Gon said casually.

“I don’t think so.” So surely, Anakin said, “No one can kill a Jedi.”

Qui-Gon chuckled. “I wish that were so.”

Anakin began fiddling with his utensils. “I had a dream I was a Jedi. I came back here and freed all the slaves.” He looked up to Qui-Gon, his eyes full of hope. “Have you come to free us?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“I think you have. Why else would you be here?”

Anakin looked to Queen Amidala, who couldn’t bear to match his expectant gaze, and then Obi-Wan, who just shrugged apologetically.

Qui-Gon leaned over the table. “I can see there’s no fooling you, Anakin. We’re on our way to Coruscant, the central system in the Republic, on a very important mission.”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. Qui-Gon was a great liar and certainly could have fooled Anakin if he wanted to.

“How did you end up out here in the Outer Rim?”

Queen Amidala jumped in. “Our ship was damaged and we’re stranded out here until we can repair it.”

“I can help!” said Anakin, which Obi-Wan was certain Qui-Gon had been hoping for. “I can fix anything!” That wasn’t the help that they needed, though. They needed ideas on how to make some money.

“I believe you can.” Qui-Gon laughed. “But first we must acquire the parts we need.”

“Wit no-nutten mula to trade.”

Queen Amidala sighed. “These junk dealers must have a weakness of some kind.”

“Gambling,” said Shmi. “Everything here revolves around betting on those awful races.”

“Podracing...” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully.

Qui-Gon glanced to him. “Greed can be a powerful ally.”

“I've built a racer! It's the fastest ever. There's a big race tomorrow, on Boonta Eve.” Obi-Wan didn’t like where this was going… “You could enter my pod.”

“Anakin, Watto won't let you.”

“Watto doesn't know I've built it.” Anakin turned to Qui-Gon. “You could make him think it was your's and get him to let me pilot it for you.”

Shmi’s presence oozed worry. “I don't want you to race. It’s awful. I die every time Watto makes you do it.”

“But Mom, I love it,” Anakin begged. “The prize money would more than pay for the parts they need.”

“Anakin—”

“Your mother's right.” Well, Obi-Wan was certainly glad his master wasn’t actually willing to endanger a child for their own purposes. For a moment, he was worried Qui-Gon would actually let it go too far. “Is there anyone friendly to the Republic who might be able to help us?”

Shmi shook her head. “No.”

Obi-Wan sighed. Maybe too far was the only way to go after all.

She looked away from them.

“Mom, you say that the biggest problem in this universe is no one helps each other.”

Queen Amidala sighed. “I'm sure Qui-Gon doesn't want to put your son in danger. We’ll find some other way.”

Shmi took a deep breath. “No, there is no other way. I may not like it, but… he can help you. He was meant to help you.”

Anakin smiled widely, but Qui-Gon and Queen Amidala looked quite downtrodden at that turn of events.

Obi-Wan took another bite of his meal. “The Force does work in mysterious ways.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “You are right about that, my young apprentice.”

They all returned to their meals and continued to eat in silence. The sound of sand and wind battering against the building had quieted during their argument, and Obi-Wan realized that it was almost difficult to hear it. He turned to Shmi. “Do you think it sounds like it’s safe to travel yet?”

Shmi turned her ear up and listened for a long moment. “Almost. Is there somewhere you need to be?”

Obi-Wan shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll just be returning to the ship, that’s all.”

“Why?” asked Anakin.

“Just to keep an eye on the others.” Unlike Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan didn’t really want to air all their dirty laundry to a child.

Anakin looked downtrodden. “But I want to show you my pod.”

“I’m sure the others will tell me all about it, Anakin.”

Anakin poked his food. “I don’t want you to go.”

Great. So quickly, Anakin had grown attached to him. He’d hate to be around when they all left for good. It was better if Obi-Wan made a quick departure, then, and allow Anakin to get over it. He had to admit, in the short time they’d known each other, he was beginning to like Anakin, too. It took a selfless soul to risk one’s life for others who had nothing to offer him in return.

***

The uncomfortable tingling feeling in the Force that Obi-Wan had been feeling since they landed on Tatooine intensified by tenfold, at least, since Qui-Gon had returned to Mos Espa to pick up their new tagalong, Anakin Skywalker. Obi-Wan didn’t quite know why, but he knew they needed to get off that planet, and quickly. Something was going to happen, something—

The door to the cockpit slid open. “Qui-Gon’s in trouble,” said Captain Panaka.

Obi-Wan reacted immediately, turning from his display to the window, catching sight of Anakin and Queen Amidala in the corner of his eye. “Take off,” he told the pilot. It was easy to spot _trouble_ against the desert backdrop. _Trouble_ was wearing a black set of robes, and had a red lightsaber clashing against Qui-Gon’s green one. “Over there,” he pointed, as if the pilot couldn’t see the battle before them. “Fly low.”

He felt Anakin leaning over his shoulder, worrying deeply. But mostly he felt evil, and it was coming from the black-robed man with the red lightsaber. He’d never felt so much hatred in the Force, and it was making him sick to his stomach.

The pilot reached for a lever that Obi-Wan knew controlled the door platform. “Don’t,” he said quickly, brushing the pilot’s hand away and gripping it himself.

They hovered above the battle and lost sight of it, but Obi-Wan knew the exact moment that Qui-Gon jumped into the ship. The Force yelled for them to go, and Obi-Wan pulled the lever. Before anyone could react, he hurried out of the cockpit, Anakin at his heels.

The pair of them found Qui-Gon laying on the floor across from the door, beside R2-D2.

“Are you alright?” asked Anakin as they knelt beside him.

“I think so.” Qui-Gon sat up.

“What was that?” asked Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon took a few heavy breaths. Sweat trailed down his face, and he continued to pant as he spoke. “I’m not sure, but it was well-trained in the Jedi arts.” It had to be, to work Qui-Gon Jinn into such a state. “My guess is, it was after the Queen.”

“What are we gonna do about it?”

“We should be patient.”

No surprise there. “First lesson about the Jedi, Anakin. Every solution to a problem begins with _being patient_.” Anakin laughed lightly, and Obi-Wan smiled at him. “Let’s find a place to get your settled until we reach Coruscant, hm? I’m sure it’s been a long day for you.”

Anakin’s face lit up. “You should’ve seen me, Obi-Wan! For a while there, I really thought Sebulba was going to have me, but I—”

He gave an entire play-by-play of the race as Obi-Wan collected blankets and settled Anakin into his and Qui-Gon’s corner of the ship. It was a big ship, but the Queen’s yacht— whoops, he’d meant, the _Naboo Royal Starship_ — certainly wasn’t built for a group of their size. The pilots somehow managed in the space put aside for a single pilot and his copilot, and the Queen shared with her handmaidens to make space for the extra security forces. Jar-Jar had slept on a chair during the night he was onboard before they’d gone searching for parts on Tatooine, and Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had taken a set of well-cushioned benches in one of the living areas.

He piled a bunch of blankets onto the floor, and then he plucked the pillow from his bench and added it to the pile. It was a bit of a mess, but it would make for a comfortable nest in absence of a bed. He supposed there were a few nice benches in other rooms, but, on the floor, Anakin would be in the presence of people with whom he was comfortable. Obi-Wan couldn’t begin to understand what it was like for Anakin to be leaving his mother behind, but he guessed that being near others would help.

“—it was amazing!”

Obi-Wan wrapped a one of the blankets around Anakin’s arms. “You should get some sleep, young one.”

“I can’t,” said Anakin. “I’m too excited.”

Obi-Wan picked up Anakin from the floor and sat him down on the bench. “I’m sorry I had to miss your race. I would’ve loved to have watched, if it was really as exciting as you say it was.”

Anakin grinned. “Well, I’m sure you’ll see me fly sometime. We’ll probably see each other all the time if I’m going to become a Jedi!”

“You’re going to become a Jedi, hm?” He wasn’t surprised, after seeing Anakin’s midi-chlorian count, that Qui-Gon would plan on taking the boy before the Council, but it was different actually hearing it spoken. “The Jedi temple is a big place. And I’m sure you’ll be too busy with your training to have time for boring old Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Anakin scoffed. “We’re friends,” he said. “Of course I’ll have time for you. I’ll make time. You can show me all sorts of things, I bet.”

“Yes, I suppose we are friends.” He had to admit, Anakin was growing on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **(June 13/2015)**
> 
> **On Alien Language:** It’s all grabbed straight from a version of the script I found online. I’m not bothering with a long list of translations here because it’s literally just the movie dialogue. The POV character doesn’t know what’s being said, and you should already know the gist of what’s going on anyways. Jar-Jar’s dialogue is practically an alien language, too, and is also ripped from the script. Standard dialogue from the movie, for the record, was partially from the script but corrected by ear so it matches the movie a bit better.
> 
>  **“Are you angels?”:** We get to see an angel in The Clone Wars, and I’d think the first descriptor anyone would use would be “bright.” Wookiepedia says they “gave off an aura of kindness”. Considering Anakin’s extreme force sensitivity, I headcanon that he was reacting to Padmé’s force presence— shining with kindness and goodness and selflessness and all that, something I’m sure he doesn’t run into much in Mos Espa— rather than just her looks. Considering Obi-Wan is pretty powerful in the force and also a pretty selfless person, I extended that reaction to include him as well. The first thing I wrote for this fic was actually that little scene from Anakin’s POV.
> 
>  **“[Obi-Wan] and Qui-Gon’s corner of the ship”:** Did anyone else find it strange that Anakin seemed to be camping in a random corner and Jar-Jar sleeping on a chair? Clearly, they don’t have enough room on the ship for the amount of bodies that they have aboard, and you’d think Qui-Gon would offer his (and Obi-Wan’s, probably) room to his two pathetic lifeforms, because Qui-Gon strikes me as someone who would be a polite host, so I don’t think he and Obi-Wan got a room, either. 
> 
> **The whole movie-dialogue thing:** It won't persist. The next chapter picks up with the last few short scenes and is mostly focused on the in-betweens, and it’ll be a long way before we reach _Attack of the Clones._ This chapter is also a bit long compared to the others because I wanted the bulk of _The Phantom Menace_ out of the way quickly and grouped together for ease.
> 
> That’s all for now, folks. Hope to see you next time, when we pick up with Obi-Wan and Anakin on Naboo.


	2. New Knight, New Apprentice

When Anakin landed his starfighter in the hanger in Theed Palace, he found chaos. Not chaos at all like the mess of exploding droid control ship he’d just flown out from, and certainly not chaos like the planet had been in when they arrived to free it from the clutches of the Trade Federation, but chaos nonetheless. Padmé seemed to be everywhere. One minute she was gathering her remaining personal security force and giving them instructions, the next, she was congratulating the pilots for their success, and before Anakin even realized that she was finished with that, she was on the com with the Gungans, thanking them for their help.

She was running through the hall, preparing a speech under her breath, when Anakin finally caught up with her long enough to ask, “Where are Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan?”

Padmé didn’t stop moving as she said, “That’s a very good question.” Without missing a beat, she activated her com. “Master Qui-Gon? Padawan Obi-Wan? Do you read me?” She waited for a response for only a moment before repeating, “Master Qui-Gon, Padawan Obi-Wan, are you there?” She took a deep breath and then said to Anakin, “This might not be over yet.”

“What—”

She hit the button on her com again. “Captain Panaka, have you seen the Jedi?”

“No, your Highness,” Captain Panaka’s voice responded. “I’ll send someone to search for them immediately.”

“Be careful.” Padmé bit her lip. “They could still be engaged in battle with the Zabrak.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Or worse.”

Anakin gasped. “You mean nobody’s seen them since the hanger?”

Padmé looked down to him, her face kind, but resigned. “I’m sure they’re fine, Anakin.” As if her earlier words to Captain Panaka didn’t show otherwise.

He slowed to a stop, but she continued at the same pace, leaving him standing alone in the middle of an empty corridor. He hoped nothing happened to Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan: he liked them. Qui-Gon was smart and believed in him. He said he would teach Anakin. And from the moment Anakin first saw Obi-Wan, he knew the man was good. He was so bright. Bright like the suns high above the city midday on Tatooine, bright like he’d never found on Tatooine. Not quite bright in the same was as Padmé or his mother, but blindingly bright and so hard to miss.

He’d always been able to feel people, and more and more was he suspecting that it had been a Jedi thing the whole time— a Force thing.

Too bad he couldn’t use it to find Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon.

That thought circled around Anakin mind for a few minutes. Could he use it to find them? If he had any training, he probably could.

Anakin closed his eyes and focused on the brightness that he remembered.

After a minute or so of concentrating, he gave up. Of course he couldn’t do that. What was he thinking?

He’d have to look for Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon the old fashioned way: by retracing their steps.

He returned to the hanger where he last saw them. There were a lot of doors they could have possibly gone through. Did they chase that thing— the Zabrak, Padmé had called it— down the hallway it came from?

No, Anakin decided. That hallway, as far as he could tell, led to parts of the palace that other people were in. Surely if Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon were that way, someone would have seen them. And they couldn’t have gone down the hallway that Padmé and her security forces had taken, because Padmé would have noticed that. What did that leave?

Anakin walked the edge of the room, glancing through every door for clues. Finally, he came across a large door, bigger than the others, wide open. Inside looked to be some sort of power generator or something. The controls on the right were sparking.

“Well,” he mumbled to himself. “That looks promising.”

He crept through the door and tiptoed inside. It didn’t look like a place he’d normally be allowed in.

He reached the edge of the floor and looked down, and then promptly regretted it. Why would Padmé have a bottomless pit under her palace? What was the logic in that?

Backing away from the edge, he eyed the room— if it could even be called a room. Platforms stretched across the pit, and if Anakin looked up, he saw even more platforms, and he’d certainly noticed quite a few when he had looked down as well. Despite his certainty that Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon had come through the place, he couldn’t begin to hazard a guess to where they went from there. There were just too many possibilities.

Anakin began running down the middle walkway: he had to start somewhere.

He reached the other end of the platform quickly enough and began through the small hall that connected to the next room. The walls had quite a few mechanical bits, actually. Was he heading into an important room that he really shouldn’t be going to?

For no reason other than it suddenly felt like a really good idea, Anakin stopped.

Shields began to rise in front of him, starting at the far end and approaching him. Anakin found himself caught between two.

He blinked. “Well,” he said. “Now look what you’ve gone done got yourself into.” It would be really embarrassing if he had to get rescued from a place he really shouldn’t be.

But those shields couldn’t remain raised forever. 

At least, he hoped they couldn’t.

So he waited. He counted how many more shields he had to walk through about three times before getting bored of it and studying the patterns of minor interference in the one before him.

The shields began to drop, and Anakin raced through, lest he get caught between them once more. When he thought about it, going to the other side of the shields probably wasn’t a good idea. No room could have that many shields for no reason. He probably should have turned around and gone back—

He didn’t have time to analyze that thought properly, because before him was Obi-Wan Kenobi, cradling a limp Master Qui-Gon in his arms.

Except, Obi-Wan didn’t feel like Obi-Wan.

And Qui-Gon didn’t feel like anything at all.

Anakin took a step closer to him.

Obi-Wan was dimmer. Not darker, like the Hutts or like bounty hunters or like slave owners, but like that little girl who worked a few shops down from Watto’s, who’d been sold on another planet separate from her parents only to end up alone on Tatooine. Like a slave freshly broken.

Anakin didn’t have to be told to know. Qui-Gon was dead. Killed, probably, by the Zabrak.

Anakin placed his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

The only thing that counted the time they stood like that, beyond Anakin’s careful breathing and Obi-Wan’s choked sobs, was the loud raising and lowering of the hallway’s shields behind them.

Raise, breathe, sob, breathe… lower, breathe, sob…

So removed from the bustle of Padmé’s security retaking the building and reorganizing her government, it was almost possible to forget the chaos in the building above and the battles that had only just occurred. They remained there for only a moment, and they remained there for a lifetime.

Obi-Wan finally said, “Anakin.” His voice hitched in the middle of the word.

“I’m sorry,” said Anakin quietly. He bit his lip and his grip on Obi-Wan’s tunic tightened. “Do you want— do you want to be alone?”

“Maybe.” More strongly, he said, “Yes.” Before Anakin could let go, barely above a whisper, he added, “No.”

Anakin’s eyes flickered to Qui-Gon.

“He is one with the Force,” said Obi-Wan. “There is no death. So there’s no need to mourn for death.”

Anakin bit his lip.

Obi-Wan took a shaky breath.

“That’s stupid.” Anakin tried to hold the words back; he really did. But they spewed from his mouth nonetheless. They needed to be said. “He’s still gone. You’re still gonna miss him.”

Obi-Wan looked at him, as if for the first time. Certainly for the first time since Anakin found him.

“I mean, I don’t know about this _one with the Force_ thing, but it’s not like he’s going to be coming back for a visit.”

Obi-Wan was staring at him.

Anakin flinched under the gaze, and looked away.

Letting go of Qui-Gon’s body, Obi-Wan reached for Anakin. He lightly grabbed Anakin’s cheek and angled it to face him. Anakin averted his eyes.

“It’s not the way of the Jedi,” said Obi-Wan.

Anakin’s gaze flickered back to Obi-Wan only for a second. That was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard.

“Young one,” Obi-Wan said, “what is it?”

“What’s what?” replied Anakin.

“What you wanted to say.” Obi-Wan finally managed to catch Anakin’s eyes. He stared into them intensely, and it took all of Anakin’s effort not to look away. “Tell me.”

Quietly, Anakin said, “That’s stupid.”

Obi-Wan actually laughed at that. It wasn’t a happy laugh, or fun laugh, or amused laugh. It was actually quite cold— but not in an angry way. Just… empty.

“I’m sorry—”

“No,” said Obi-Wan. “The Jedi teachings must sound strange to an outsider.”

Anakin nodded, not quite sure what he was agreeing with. “Obi-Wan,” said Anakin slowly, “can I hug you?”

“What?”

Anakin almost didn’t ask again, but he couldn’t help himself. “Can I hug you?” He looked like he needed it.

Obi-Wan blinked, and stared.

Anakin began to move away.

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, not responding for a long second, and then said, so very slowly, “If you’d like.”

Anakin didn’t hesitate. At some point in their shuffling, Qui-Gon’s body had slipped off Obi-Wan’s lap, so Anakin launched himself into his arms, wrapping his own tightly around Obi-Wan’s torso. He buried his face into Obi-Wan’s shirt, and finally, he let himself mourn for the man who would’ve been his master. Obi-Wan’s arms tensed around him, but he held firmly.

And, although Anakin supposed that if he would ask about it later, Obi-Wan would deny it, they cried together.

Anakin didn’t know how long they stayed there, but when they returned to the hanger, Obi-Wan carrying Qui-Gon’s body in his arms, the sun had begun to dip low on the horizon and splay golden light through the palace. When the few pilots and mechanics who were tinkering with the yellow Naboo starfighters saw them, they immediately dropped what they were doing. One pulled out his com and began to speak into it. From where Anakin was, he couldn’t hear what was being said, but he was pretty sure that the pilot was calling off the search that Padmé had likely ordered.

Within minutes, they were surrounded. Padmé pushed through the crowd of security and pilots and people whom Anakin had never met. When she saw Qui-Gon, her stoic, regal expression did not change, but Anakin could feel the sadness in her. “Master Jedi,” she said carefully, and her mouth remained open as if she meant to say more, but no words came out.

“Queen Amidala,” Obi-Wan replied. “I need to speak with the Jedi council.”

“Of course,” said Padmé. “I’ll make a call and route them through to the infirmary.”

“The infirmary?” Anakin asked.

Padmé looked down at him and raised an eyebrow. “You both need to see someone about possible injuries.”

With that, she walked off, presumably to make Obi-Wan’s call. This time, she didn’t have to push her way through the crowd: they moved out of the way on their own. Obi-Wan gave Anakin a nod, and then took advantage of the break in the crowd to make his own way through. For Obi-Wan, the crowd parted even further, but Anakin figured that had less to do with regal presence like it had for Padmé and more to do with respect for the dead.

Anakin walked at Obi-Wan’s heels through the palace hallways. Heads turned as they passed, and Anakin just wanted to shrink away from their gaze. When he’d climbed out of the ship, victory fresh, he’d wanted nothing more than attention, but walking through the corridors, his eyes still puffy and red from crying, he just felt vulnerable. Small and weak, and like they could see right through him to that small and weak part of himself. He moved even closer to Obi-Wan, trying to use the man to shield himself.

When Anakin stepped on Obi-Wan’s heels, Obi-Wan mumbled, “We’re almost there.”

Anakin didn’t bother to ask how Obi-Wan knew the way. It was either a Jedi thing or Obi-Wan had just been smart enough to study the layout before storming the palace.

The infirmary was large and full, but quiet. Upon their arrival, a doctor hurried over to them. Qui-Gon’s body was deposited gently on a hover-gurney, and the doctor left with it, while another was floated over by a nurse. Obi-Wan picked Anakin from the ground and sat him on it.

As Obi-Wan took a seat beside Anakin, the nurse began, “Master Jedi—”

“We walked here fine on our own,” Obi-Wan interrupted. “We don’t need to take up more than one between us.”

The nurse opened her mouth to protest, but Anakin interrupted. “Please. I don’t want to be any trouble.” Really, he just didn’t want to stray too far from Obi-Wan. His presence, even clouded with sorrow, was still a familiar comfort in a strange place. “I don’t need to be here, anyways.”

Obi-Wan said, “I beg to differ.”

“I’m fine.” Anakin crossed his arms.

Obi-Wan chuckled lightly. “It’s for the best. I’m not sure how you could have sustained any injuries while hiding that cockpit, but—”

“About that…” Anakin mumbled.

Obi-Wan stopped speaking and looked down to him. “What did you do?”

Anakin shrugged. “I promise I stayed in the cockpit.”

“That’s, somehow, _not_ reassuring, Anakin.”

He made a face. “The autopilot was on, and I kind of accidentally started the engine—”

“Accidentally?”

“—and once I was already in the middle of the battle I figured… well…”

“Why not?” asked Obi-Wan, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” said Anakin. “That.”

The nurse stifled a giggle.

Obi-Wan looked up to her inquisitively.

“From what the pilots tell me,” she said slowly, “he was quite the hero up there.”

Anakin grinned widely, gaining confidence. “You should have seen it!” he said to Obi-Wan. “It was like podracing, only so much cooler. And I thought I was done for when Artoo and I crashed into the hanger—”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan interrupted. “Jedi do not brag.”

Anakin immediately felt heat rush to his face, and his whole body tensed uncomfortably. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Obi-Wan appeared to have not heard him. As the nurse pushed their hover-gurney into a private room, he said to her, “I’m expecting an important call any time now.”

“Yes, yes,” said the nurse. “Let’s see to your health first, though, hm?”

Obi-Wan glanced over to Anakin. “Check him for a concussion. His head was probably banged around without a properly fitted helmet—”

The nurse pulled out a medical scanner. “I know how to do my job, Master Jedi.” She directed the scanned towards Anakin’s head and spoke softly to him. “How are feeling? Tired, dizzy, or nauseous at all?”

“No,” said Anakin. “I feel fine. Obi-Wan’s the one who needs checking. He was in a lightsaber battle, you know.”

The nurse raised her eyebrow at him. “Is that so?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “And a lightsaber wound would be quite obvious, I assure you. You’d have noticed it before now.”

The nurse turned her scanner to Obi-Wan. “Anakin, here, is fine. No sign of a concussion. Now you…” She eyed him carefully. “Any tiredness, dizziness, or nausea?”

“What makes you think I have a concussion?”

“Just checking.” She looked down to her scanner. “Did you take any blows from anything besides a lightsaber? Like, for example, getting kicked, or falling a great distance…”

“Lightsaber battles are very physical,” Obi-Wan replied, as if that explained anything.

The nurse sighed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Anakin grabbed onto Obi-Wan’s wrist. “You’re going to be fine, though, right?” He couldn’t imagine what he would do if he lost Obi-Wan, too.

“I’m just a little bruised, Anakin.”

Before Anakin could respond, the communication unit on the wall beeped. The nurse sighed. “That would be your call, I suppose.” She walked over to it and pressed one of its buttons.

A hologram of Master Yoda appeared before them. He stared for a long moment before speaking. “Called for the Jedi Council, you did, Padawan Obi-Wan, hm?”

Obi-Wan bowed respectfully. “Yes, Master?”

“News, you have, do you?” Yoda inquired, his eyes flickering towards Anakin for a moment.

Obi-Wan glanced to Anakin as well, probably deciding whether or not it was something he should be saying in front of Anakin. “Yes, Master,” he said finally. He took a careful breath, and his presence curled around itself. Anakin wanted nothing more than to give him a hug, because he clearly needed it; Anakin had figured out the purpose of the call.

“About Qui-Gon’s _Sith Lord_ , is it?”

Obi-Wan shuffled in his spot. “It’s not unrelated, no.”

Yoda raised a questioning eyebrow, and waited for Obi-Wan to continue.

“The Sith is dead,” Obi-Wan said. “And so is Master Qui-Gon.”

Yoda sighed. “Sensed this in the Force, I did. Tell your story in full, you will, once reach Naboo, the Jedi Council does.”

Obi-Wan looked surprised at that, but did not question it. “We’ll speak then, Master. Safe travels, and may the Force be with you.”

“With you, may the Force be, as well, young Padawan.” And, with that, the transmission cut.

The nurse cleared her throat to remind them of her presence. “Everything seems in order with you and young Anakin, Master Jedi. But please, you must return if either of you experience possible symptoms of anything we might’ve missed.”

Obi-Wan nodded to her. “Thank you for your time, ma’am. We can let ourselves out. I’m sure there are much more grievously injured people who need your attention.” He stood up, and lifted Anakin off the gurney. Upon being placed on the ground, Anakin quickly began following Obi-Wan out the door and back into the corridors of the palace.

The halls were big, confusing, and all looked the same. If Obi-Wan wasn’t striding through them with such purpose, Anakin would think they were just wandering around lost. Obi-Wan didn’t speak to him, and Anakin didn’t try to make him. He couldn’t image the turbulent emotions that Obi-Wan had to be experiencing— except, of course, he kind of could, because he could feel them swirling around just out of his reach.

When they approached a courtyard, Obi-Wan slowed his pace. He threw open the door and walked right into the center of its garden. Once there, he plopped down onto the dirt, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes.

Anakin opened his mouth, but before he could ask what Obi-Wan was doing, Obi-Wan said, “I’m going to meditate.”

“Oh,” said Anakin. “And what should I do.”

Obi-Wan opened one of his eyes and watched Anakin with it for a long moment. Anakin shuffled uncomfortably on his feet.

“I suppose you could join me.”

Anakin scratched his neck. “I don’t know how to meditate.”

Obi-Wan sighed.

A wave of disappointment overtook Anakin, and he wasn’t sure it was entirely his own. He wanted to be able to meditate with Obi-Wan— he really did. It seemed, from the way Obi-Wan had spoken, that it was important to him, and that it wasn’t just nothing to offer to share it with Anakin. “I’m sorry—”

Obi-Wan held his hand up, and breathed deeply. Opening his other eye, he leaned towards Anakin and rested his head in his hands. “Sit down, then.”

Anakin blinked. “What?”

“Sit down.” Obi-Wan gestured to the ground in front of him.

Anakin sat.

With a smile, Obi-Wan continued, “Let’s start with a simple breathing meditation, then, shall we?”

Anakin furrowed his eyebrows. “What are you—”

“I’m teaching you to meditate,” said Obi-Wan. “If you’re going to be Jedi, you’re going to have to know how to do it.” He leaned in further towards Anakin and said in a low voice, “Sometimes, I think, that’s all the Masters do, is meditate.”

Anakin giggled.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “Now, Jedi meditate for a multitude of reasons. Amongst the most important are to connect with the Force, and to release emotions into it—”

“That’s why you need to meditate right now,” Anakin interrupted.

When Obi-Wan looked taken aback and felt saddened, Anakin regretted his words.

“I mean—”

“No,” Obi-Wan cut him off. “You’re correct. But I can hold off long enough to give you some direction, hm? You’d just disrupt my meditation if you didn’t have something to occupy you, anyway.”

Anakin looked away, and believed, for a few seconds, that Obi-Wan was offering a lesson to get Anakin out of his way, before he realized that everything Obi-Wan felt like in that moment contradicted his words. Obi-Wan was peaceful— well, at least more peaceful than he’d been since Anakin found him clutching onto Qui-Gon’s body like it would disappear if he let go— and his intentions just felt good. Anakin knew selfish desires when he felt them, and he sensed no such thing from Obi-Wan.

“We aren’t going to be introducing you into full-blown intense force-connection meditation right away. While most Jedi younglings know proper meditation techniques by the time they’re your age, we’re going to have to start at the beginning. Simple breathing techniques.” He took a deep breath. In, out, and then he closed his eyes. “Breathing is the base of a Jedi’s meditation. Once you’ve calmed your mind, you can connect deeper and further into the Force.”

Obi-Wan breathed again.

“Close your eyes now,” said Obi-Wan, “and breath with me. In— deep, through the nose, with your diaphragm— and then out— slow but natural.”

Anakin breathed in, in unison with Obi-Wan. And then out.

In, out— he was a bit bored, really. There wasn’t much to focus on. In, out. He wondered if all the other pilots were alright, because he’d spotted some in the infirmary. He was pretty sure they’d lost some ships at some point, judging by the chatter, but removed from the battle he could hardly remember the chatter. He had heard it, he knew, but it hadn’t really registered. He was too focused on flying. In. Out. He wanted to see Padmé. To speak with Padmé. He’d hardly had a second to do so since they arrived on Naboo. He hoped she was alright. She’d been in battle, too, and it would be just like her to ignore a grievous injury while she worked on putting her planet back together because she thought it was more important than her health.

In. Out. Was he doing it right? He couldn’t be. His mind felt even more busy than before. In. Out. Was Obi-Wan noticing Anakin’s problem? Was he disappointed? Or was he just meditating on his own, forgetting all about Anakin.

In. Out. Focus. He needed something to focus on to keep his mind from wandering.

He reached out for Obi-Wan, and knew that Obi-Wan had begun his own, proper, meditation. He probably didn’t even remember Anakin was there. Probably didn’t care, even if he did. In. Out.

Obi-Wan felt different. Open, and his grief tumbled around him, like it was his own personal storm. Anakin was grieving as well; Qui-Gon was a great man and was going to be his great teacher. But Qui-Gon had been Obi-Wan’s teacher for years. Anakin breathed, in and out, and he touched the storm.

Not with his fingers. It was an odd sensation, touching Obi-Wan’s force presence with his mind. Perhaps he was meditating, because he’d never done anything like that before with his feelings? But no, Obi-Wan said meditation was peace, and Anakin felt nothing of the sort. He just felt Obi-Wan’s grief mixed with his own, and just wanted to make Obi-Wan feel better.

In. Out. He had to calm his mind if he wanted to do the meditation thing successfully, but perhaps all he needed was something to focus on? Obi-Wan was right there. He could focus on Obi-Wan.

And then, and he wasn’t sure why or how, Anakin was tumbling around in Obi-Wan’s storm.

In. Out. Stop, his mind screamed. It was dragging him in, drowning him. But Obi-Wan was drowning, and he needed to pull him out. He was falling. Falling into the eye of the storm. In. Out.

And suddenly Obi-Wan was touching him back. He felt questioning— Obi-Wan wanted to know what he was doing.

Anakin didn’t know how to respond, so he just felt sympathy and caring as strongly as he could and hoped Obi-Wan could sense it like he could sense Obi-Wan’s emotions.

He could feel Obi-Wan’s protest for only a moment before he felt an embrace. The storm subsided, and Anakin breathed in and out and opened his eyes.

Obi-Wan was staring at him.

“What,” said Obi-Wan, “was that?”

Anakin shrugged. “I don’t think I did that right.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, you didn’t.” Eyes sparkling, he continued, “But at the same time, I think you did.”

Anakin reached out, this time with his hand. He grabbed onto Obi-Wan’s arm and held tight. Obi-Wan smiled at him, a new fondness in his eyes. “Next time, focus on nothing but your breathing, okay?”

“My mind kept wandering—”

“As minds tend to do, yes.” Obi-Wan chuckled. “But you’re supposed to focus on your breathing to settle it.”

“Oh,” said Anakin. That would make sense. “But what about you? You felt—”

“My grief, I’m sure you did, yes.” Obi-Wan shook his head. “I was releasing those emotions into the Force. I know you had good intentions butting in like that, but it does interfere with the meditation I was attempting.”

Anakin blinked. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know better, young one.” Obi-Wan stood up, stretching his arms to the sky. He opened his mouth and didn’t speak for a long moment, before he added, “You _were_ soothing, just like you intended. It just wasn’t the road that I intended to take.”

“What does it matter what road you take?” Anakin asked. “I always feel better when I get a hug.”

Obi-Wan sighed, and said, as if reciting a mantra, “There is no emotion, there is peace.”

Anakin blinked.

Obi-Wan stared at him for a long moment.

“I’m… sorry?”

“I— Anakin—” He took a careful breath, clearly composing his thoughts. “Normally, these things are taught to Jedi before they even become Padawans. I’m really not sure how to begin to teach this to you. I’m just a Padawan myself.” He shrugged. “I don’t know if I can teach you on my own.”

It took a minute for the words to sink in, but when they did, Anakin launched himself up from the ground and wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist in a hug. “ _You’re_ going to teach me!”

“Nothing’s set in stone yet,” Obi-Wan said quickly. “I have to ask the Council first, but yes, I intend to take you as my Padawan.”

Anakin would’ve loved Qui-Gon as a teacher, but he would have chosen Obi-Wan over him any day. Obi-Wan was cooler.

***

The Jedi Council, along with Senator— now, Chancellor— Palpatine and his entourage arrived late the next afternoon. Anakin followed at Obi-Wan’s side as they greeted everyone, mimicking Obi-Wan’s movements when he bowed respectfully to both the Chancellor and the Council. Anakin fidgeted as the politicians exchanged pleasantries; to steady him, Obi-Wan rested his hand on Anakin’s shoulder, and left it there even after Anakin stilled. He used it to lead Anakin around as the group left the streets of Theed and settled in the Throne Room of the Palace. He tried not to fall asleep through some boring formalities, and then they moved to a grand dining room for a dinner. As they were served the third course, Anakin leaned into Obi-Wan and asked quietly, “Why are we going through all this when people are still being moved out of camps?”

Obi-Wan replied, “It’s not every day that the entire Jedi Council and the Chancellor of the Republic visit a planet.”

Anakin looked around the room. “I don’t think anyone here actually prefers this to doing something productive. Except maybe the Chancellor.” He knew Padmé didn’t, and unless the Jedi Council were hypocrites, then everything that Obi-Wan had taught him at that point told him they shouldn’t either.

Obi-Wan chuckled. “Welcome, Anakin, to politics.”

After dinner, Obi-Wan slipped away with the Jedi Council, leaving Anakin with Padmé and her handmaidens. She didn’t have the time to give him her attention like she had on the ship, or like Obi-Wan did, but he still had to admire her for it. She spent the evening preparing a plan for rebuilding and arguing with a few of her advisors about what would be a reasonable level of compensation to demand from the Trade Federation. Anakin didn’t pay it much attention, and he fell asleep in a chair at some point.

He awoke to a dark sky and Padmé shaking him.

“Wha—”

“We’re heading for Qui-Gon’s funeral,” said Obi-Wan’s voice.

Anakin stood up and spotted him in the doorway, just past Padmé, who had changed at some point since he’d fallen asleep. “At this time?” he asked, eyes flickering to the pitch black outside the windows.

Obi-Wan nodded. “Come on.”

He led Anakin through the halls in a daze. Anakin fell back asleep again in the speeder on their way through the city. Obi-Wan woke him when they arrived, and Anakin wasn’t quite sure where they were, only that it was quite out of the way: he could see the city lights on the horizon.

Qui-Gon’s body was placed on a stone casket in the center of the room, and the people gathered around were dressed in black for mourning. Anakin joined Obi-Wan in what he supposed was a place of honour, with the Gungan leader Boss Nass, Padmé, and the Chancellor.

A Jedi that Anakin didn’t know lit the body aflame, and it began burning before him. The flame’s orange glow was the only light in the room. Anakin wasn’t sure if he was beginning to cry or if the smoke was just making his eyes water, and he shivered, even though the room was so very warm. The fresh, cool night air that came through the windows, wide open without any glass, didn’t stop the stench of burning flesh from searing itself in his nostrils. That was unbearable, but Anakin withstood it as best he could.

Obi-Wan turned to him. Quietly, he said, “The Council has granted me permission to train you. You will be a Jedi.” He looked back to the flame to deliver his last words, almost too quietly for Anakin to hear. “I promise.” Anakin didn’t think the words were meant for him, anyway.

He swallowed uncomfortably, and wiped his eyes. He didn’t look away from the pyre again.

***

The next morning, Anakin woke up to an empty room. He barely remembered leaving the funeral the night before, and was certain he’d fallen asleep in the speeder. For a moment, he wondered how he’d gotten from the speeder to his bed, but the memories quickly returned. It was fuzzy and foggy, but he remembered slipping into consciousness feeling like he was being carried, and opening his eyes long enough to see he was in Obi-Wan’s arms before falling back asleep.

Obi-Wan had carried him to bed. He couldn’t even remember his mother ever doing that for him.

Anakin untangled himself from his blankets and sat up. “Obi-Wan?” he called carefully, but no one answered.

Once he’d climbed out of bed, he looked around for any hint of where Obi-Wan might’ve gone. Their shared room wasn’t small by any definition— Anakin could fit his entire hovel on Tatooine into it— but there wasn’t anywhere to hide. Obi-Wan wasn’t in his bed, and there wasn’t a note on any of the tables— not the bedside tables, not the coffee table between the couches, and not at the breakfast table in the corner.

Anakin walked to the refresher’s door and knocked on it carefully. “Obi-Wan?”

Again, no answer, so he swung it open and entered to begin preparing for the day. He couldn’t get enough of Naboo’s real water showers, so he set the temperature to cool and climbed in. Not five minutes later, his desert instinct kicked in and he turned it off despite not being quite satisfied.

He dried himself off and threw his old clothes back on. Maybe that’s what Obi-Wan had left for— to find Anakin clean clothing.

When Obi-Wan arrived in their room, something was different about him. It took Anakin a moment to spot it, but the thin, long braid he’d worn under his right ear was missing. Anakin opened his mouth to ask about it, but Obi-Wan had already held out his hand and revealed the braid clutched in his fist.

“This,” he said, “was my Padawan braid.”

Anakin blinked. “Does that mean—”

“Yes. I am now officially a Jedi Knight and able to take on an apprentice. I can be your master.” Obi-Wan smiled. “Welcome to the Jedi Order, Anakin Skywalker.” From within his robes, he pulled out a pair of scissors. “Let’s make sure you look the part, too, hm?”

Anakin took a step back. “What do you mean, look the part?”

“Well,” said Obi-Wan, “if you’re going to be a Padawan, you’re going to need a Padawan braid.”

Anakin ran his fingers through his hair. The things he was sacrificing to become a Jedi. “Fine,” he mumbled.

Obi-Wan chuckled. “It’ll grow on you, Anakin, don’t worry.”

Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan’s braid dangling from his hands— it was so long!— and mumbled, “That’s not the part I was worried about.”

Placing his braid on his nightstand, Obi-Wan said, “Grab a chair, Anakin.”

He scrambled across the room to grab the chair from the desk and dragged it towards Obi-Wan. He climbed onto it, closed his eyes, and waited.

Much closer to his head than Anakin had ever had his hair cut before Obi-Wan began snipping the hair. Anakin wasn’t looking forward to having a dorky hairstyle like Obi-Wan’s, but he’d already had the _Jedi have no possessions_ lecture, and the _Jedi have no ego_ lecture, so he supposed that logically led to _Jedi do not put their vanity above tradition_ or something like that, and he didn’t want to hear about it.

“It’s your responsibility to keep your braid neat and clean and tied,” Obi-Wan began. “Of course, I’ll braid it for you this time. Do you know how to braid hair?”

“No,” said Anakin.

Obi-Wan made a thoughtful sound. “We can have lessons on it later, when there’s not a celebration we have to get to soon.” Right: the celebration. He vaguely recalled Padmé mentioning something like that at some point the day before. To honour the Gungan’s contribution or something.

“Is my hair even long enough to braid?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan tugged lightly on a piece behind his right ear before beginning to cut around it. “It’ll be small, but it’s a start.”

“Okay.” Anakin swung his legs. “Are you almost done?”

With a laugh, Obi-Wan said, “This is delicate work, Anakin.” He continued to snip at Anakin’s hair, and Anakin tried to stay still. “I’ve found you some proper Jedi clothing for the celebration as well.”

“Like yours?”

“Yes. I wear a standard style. There will be more options in colour for you when we get back to the temple, and even more when you get to be a Knight when you’re my age.”

Anakin groaned. “But that’s so far away.”

“Yes, the Temple is quite a few light years away from Naboo—”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do, my young Padawan.” Obi-Wan put the scissors down and tied a little tuft of hair into a ponytail on the back of his head, which Anakin assumed would look identical to the weird ponytail that Obi-Wan wore, and then he began carefully tying the little strand under Anakin’s right ear into a tight braid. “I should take a holo,” he mumbled as he tied the end. “I’m sure before I know it we’ll be shearing it off with a lightsaber to celebrate _your_ Knighthood.”

Anakin turned around in his seat so he could face Obi-Wan. “Shearing it off with a lightsaber?” he asked. “That sounds wizard!”

Obi-Wan chuckled.

Looking away, Anakin mumbled, “Do you really think so?”

“Think what, Padawan?”

“That I’ll be a Jedi Knight someday. That I can really do it?”

Obi-Wan moved around the chair and knelt down so he was at eye level with Anakin. “Of course I do, Anakin. I wouldn’t waste my time training you if I didn’t think you’d succeed.”

Anakin smiled and looked back to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan grinned widely. “I suppose it’s about time you get changed for the celebration, hm?” He grabbed a small box from the couch— Anakin wasn’t sure how he missed the thing earlier— and handed it over to Anakin. “Call me if you need any help.”

“I know how to put on clothes,” Anakin replied, and raced into the refresher to change. As dorky as Jedi looked, it was quite exciting to be finally able to look the part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **(June 20/2015):**  
>  Huge thanks to my lovely beta, BeautyOnFyre. You're a wonderful help with both catching my flubs and bouncing ideas off. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
>  **On Anakin feeling things in the Force:** Let’s be fair, I’m writing it because I think it’s a really neat way to write in a POV. But really, with the highest known midi-chlorian count and proof that he’s unconsciously using the Force in the form of his flying, I’ve always imagined Anakin as always having been able to feel things without being able to control it enough to stop it. I know I mentioned it in the last note, as well, but it’s much more prominent in his POV. Oh, and Anakin was totally following the Force to Obi-Wan. He just doesn’t know it.
> 
>  **“Why would Padmé have a bottomless pit under her palace? What was the logic in that?”:** This is something I’ve wondered my entire life.
> 
>  **“Anakin began hurrying down the middle platform: he had to start somewhere.”:** Quick reminder that I’ve never read the novelization of this movie, so everything I conclude is based on visual analysis. And I spent a lot of time jumping through this fight scene trying to figure out how it worked and where their final destination was in relation to the starting point. As far as I can tell, they did just travel in a straight line, which I was quite surprised to conclude, but at least it made it easy for Anakin.
> 
>  **“No room could have that many shields for no reason.”:** Seriously, the only thing I can think of when thinking of this entire set is _Galaxy Quest_. ~~“What is this thing? I mean, it serves no useful purpose for there to be a bunch of chompy, crushy things in the middle of a hallway!”~~ Who designed this place?
> 
>  **“Of course I do, Anakin. I wouldn’t waste my time training you if I didn’t think you’d succeed".** _"Anakin didn’t need to know what Obi-Wan promised Qui-Gon on his deathbed, because Obi-Wan would have done it whether Qui-Gon asked or not."_ : A little POV slip that I had to cut but thought I’d share anyways, because I think it really highlights the big difference right now between my universe and canon.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and a huge thanks to all my reviewers. I loved reading your comments; you guys are all wonderful. See you next time.


	3. Master and Padawan

Obi-Wan knew loss was supposed to be difficult, but he never imagined how all-consuming it was. Every moment he could feel Qui-Gon’s presence missing from the galaxy. He kept reaching out for him across their connection, searching, unable to find his master on the other end. Loss was supposed to test a Jedi, but it couldn’t be meant to hurt with every moment that passed— every breath he took.

In total, they probably spent about a week on Naboo before it was time to leave. It wasn’t often that Jedi stayed even that long after a mission, but to Obi-Wan, it felt like no time at all. He kept busy with Anakin, trying to keep both their minds occupied and prevent their thoughts from dwelling too long on their pain.

But soon came the time for them to leave, and with that, came something Obi-Wan had been dreading— Anakin dealing with loss, yet again.

The Jedi Council, the Chancellor, and his entourage had already headed off to board the ship to leave for Coruscant, but Anakin lingered, and so Obi-Wan lingered.

“Anakin, they’re waiting for us,” said Obi-Wan, lightly grasping onto his shoulder, intending to lead him into the ship.

Anakin shook his head. “I want to say goodbye to Padmé first.”

Anakin Skywalker and Queen Padmé Amidala had become quite close in the short time that they’d known one another. It wasn’t that Obi-Wan hadn’t noticed it before— he had— but it hadn’t really become relevant until Anakin suddenly became his Padawan learner. Anakin was attached to her. That was okay when it was up in the air whether Anakin would ever become a Jedi, and when Obi-Wan thought it would just be Qui-Gon’s problem, not his. But it had since become Obi-Wan’s problem, and he had no idea how he could even begin to fix it.

Obi-Wan sighed. The Queen had already said her formal goodbyes to the Council and the Chancellor in the Throne Room an hour before. She was still sorting through the politics of the invasion; he doubted she’d have the time to—

“Ani!”

Oh, no. Obi-Wan was wrong. Apparently she did have the time. She had the time to change out of her elaborate costume, into the costume of one of her handmaidens, to speak with a child. Queen Padmé Amidala of Naboo was racing through the palace corridor, towards them.

Though, considering that it was an action that came from the same mind that brought into being the idea of taking the Queen onto a gangster-run Outer-Rim planet rather than keeping her safe with a Jedi and her entire personal security force on a ship far enough away from civilization to not be noticed, Obi-Wan wasn’t exceedingly surprised.

Queen Amidala reached them. “Anakin, Obi-Wan…”

“What are you doing here?” Obi-Wan asked immediately.

She smiled. “I couldn’t let you two leave without saying goodbye properly.”

“Goodbye, then, your Highness,” said Obi-Wan, giving her a quick but respectful bow. He didn’t wait for her to continue; instead, he turned away from her to return to leaving.

He heard her scoff. “Same old Obi-Wan, I suppose.”

Anakin snickered.

“As for you, Anakin…”

Obi-Wan stopped in his tracks and turned his head just enough to get a glance of Queen Amidala crouching down to Anakin’s level. Politely, Obi-Wan looked away. He’d extracted himself from the moment, so he didn’t need to be looking back. They thought they had a private goodbye, so he’d give it to them the best he could.

“I made this for you,” said Anakin. There was a pause. Presumably, he was handing her something. “You know, for you to remember me? I carved it out of a japor snippet. It will bring you good fortune.”

A short pause, and then quietly, almost too quiet for Obi-Wan to hear when he was already straining to listen, she replied, “It’s beautiful.” A bit stronger, she continued, “But I don’t need this to remember you by. We may be separated by a great distance, Ani, but my caring for you will remain.”

“I care for you, too,” said Anakin. “Only…” His voice cracked.

“You miss your mother?”

“And Qui-Gon,” he added.

Silence had fallen between Anakin and the Queen, and Obi-Wan took that as his cue. “Anakin, we can’t leave them waiting much longer.”

“I’m coming,” said Anakin. To Padmé, he said, “I’ll miss you.”

Softly, she said, “I’ll miss you too, Ani.”

That was a problem— Anakin’s attachment, at least— but time and distance would likely deal with that problem all by itself, without need of Obi-Wan’s interference. It wouldn’t hurt that he let Anakin keep his attachment for a short while longer, would it? It would give him comfort, and he really seemed to need that.

Obi-Wan turned back to them so he could stare impatiently, and Anakin responded to that immediately. He hurried after Obi-Wan. When Anakin reached him, he mumbled carefully, “I’m certain we’ll see her again, someday, young one.”

They began walking through the hallway, Obi-Wan having to purposefully keep himself from rushing to allow Anakin to walk at a comfortable pace. At least if they were late and annoyed the Jedi Council, Obi-Wan had someone to blame whom they would actually forgive. As a senior Padawan— no, as a Knight— Obi-Wan was expected to know better than to annoy the Council. A brand new Padawan learner, especially an exception such as Anakin who’d never even seen life in the Jedi Temple before, would certainly not be.

After a few hallways, Anakin finally responded. “How can you be sure?”

Obi-Wan smiled down to him. “I feel it in the Force.” And he did. Their goodbye to Queen Amidala felt so incredibly different from any other final goodbye that Obi-Wan had ever seen or participated in. They would see her again. He wasn’t sure when or why or how, but that much was certain: they would meet again. And he hoped it was years down the road, when Anakin understood what it meant to be a Jedi.

Anakin let out a long sigh. “And now it’s just you and me, then.”

Obi-Wan rested his hand on Anakin’s shoulder. He couldn’t imagine how difficult a time Anakin was having with his loss. Anakin had lived with attachment his whole life. Anakin had lost someone he’d been attached to his whole life, and Anakin had lost— was losing— the two people he’d grown most attached to since. And Anakin didn’t have meditation to release those feelings into the Force.

How had Anakin not exploded from it?

They continued in silence to the ship, and when they boarded, the door immediately shut behind them and the engines began powering up. The Council, as well as the Chancellor and his people, had already strapped themselves in for takeoff, and Obi-Wan and Anakin joined them. The Council didn’t say anything to them, but their disapproving stares were enough for Obi-Wan to know exactly how they all really felt about Anakin’s presence and training.

When the ship entered hyperspace, their straps unlocked.

The Council was on their feet almost immediately, and without exchanging a single word amongst themselves, filed into a private room just off the main cabin. Obi-Wan glanced inside and, before the door shut behind the last member, saw them orienting themselves into a circle. What had happened since their last meeting the day before that demanded they have another? Or was it simply a continuation of the previous meeting? There were rare occasions when the Council locked themselves up in the central spire of the Temple for days— even, on one memorable incident, weeks— at a time, refusing interruptions. Come to think of it, Obi-Wan hadn’t seen the Council outside of a meeting during the time he was on Naboo, with exception for the one private discussion he had with Yoda, the funeral, the celebrations, and leaving. His debriefing and Knighting certainly happened as Council meetings, and during both, they’d sounded like they were deliberating long before he arrived and wound continue long after he left.

Were they still discussing the Sith?

Anakin was fidgeting in his seat. Obi-Wan looked over to find him looking back expectedly, waiting for direction. With a smile, Obi-Wan said, “Well, looks like we’re on our own for this trip.”

Before Anakin could respond, though, Chancellor Palpatine approached them. Obi-Wan straightened his shoulders but eyed him cautiously, while Anakin leaned in a bit closer to Obi-Wan.

“Hello, Chancellor,” Obi-Wan said, his tone stifled but respectful.

A crooked grin spread across the Chancellor’s face— Obi-Wan had seen that expression so often since their first meeting that he’d begun to wonder if that was the only face the Chancellor knew how to make besides neutral and uninterested. “Knight Kenobi, Padawan Skywalker,” he greeted them.

Anakin said, softly, “Hi.”

The Chancellor turned his attention to Anakin. “How did you like Naboo, child?”

“It was nice.”

“Beautiful planet, Naboo,” he continued. “I’m quite honoured to have been born here, and to have represented it in the senate for so many years. I wonder, did you get the chance to see any of the lakes? Naboo is quite famous for its lakes.”

“No.” Anakin shook his head. “Mostly we just stayed in the palace.”

Obi-Wan cut in. “There’s so much that needed to be done. The aftermath of an invasion is no time to be sightseeing.” He didn’t mean the words to sound so harsh, if only because he didn’t want anyone to think he was disrespecting the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, but the Chancellor couldn’t be that stupid. If he wanted to make conversation, he was going about it very poorly. Obi-Wan wished he’d just get to the point— he had to be leading towards something.

“Well, then, it can be something for you to look forward to the next time that you visit.”

“We’ll go where the Jedi Council ask us to go.” Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. “But if we ever end up on Naboo again, I’ll keep that in mind.”

The Chancellor blinked. Obi-Wan tried not to take too much glee in throwing the conversation off track. Obi-Wan stood up and rested his hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse us—”

“Not quite yet, Knight Kenobi.” He looked down to Anakin once more. “I came over to invite you and your master to join me in my private room for lunch.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “No thank you, Chancellor. My Padawan and I already have plans for the afternoon.”

In the corner of his eye, he saw Anakin furrow his eyebrows in confusion. Obi-Wan hadn’t told him of any plans, so he could understand that response.

The Chancellor grinned even more widely. “Your Padawan can make his own decisions, Knight Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan turned to Anakin and raised an eyebrow. Anakin flinched away from him.

That wasn’t the response Obi-Wan had been expecting.

Not wanting to pursue that thought any farther, at least not with the Chancellor standing right there waiting for an answer, Obi-Wan said, “We’ll be meditating in the smaller conference room, if anybody actually needs us.”

He brushed by Chancellor Palpatine, Anakin following at his heels. When the door swished shut behind them, Obi-Wan finally relaxed. He’d grown so unusually comfortable with Queen Amidala and her hands-on approach in truly working for the good of her peoples— in fact, she reminded him of Satine— that he’d forgotten how much he hated politicians.

“So, meditation?” Anakin asked quietly.

Obi-Wan nodded. “Mediation. This time, I’ll try to be less of a distraction, hm?” He sat down on the floor, crossed his legs, and gestured for Anakin to join him.

Anakin hesitated for a moment before he did.

***

They landed in the Senate District on Coruscant at about midday, but was already nearing bedtime for young Anakin Skywalker. There were many things to be dealt with regarding Anakin’s entry to the Jedi Order, but those could wait until morning, when both Anakin and Obi-Wan were more awake to deal with them. Long days of space travel were exhausting in their own right, and the space-lag that came from changing time-zones was never pleasant.

One of those issues, though, couldn’t be avoided. He didn’t even think about it at first; he travelled through the grand halls of the Jedi Temple on autopilot, bringing Anakin to the one place he could: the rooms he called _home_. It glared Obi-Wan right in the face when he arrived, and instead of entering, he stopped in front of the door and froze completely.

Because _home_ was the rooms that he shared with Qui-Gon.

And Obi-Wan didn’t know whether or not it would be a good idea or not to requisition new quarters for himself and Anakin.

It would’ve helped if he knew what the Jedi Council thought was the best decision, but when he carefully touched on the topic with them on Naboo, Yoda had said it was entirely up to him. On one hand, moving quarters would take a lot of time and effort made unnecessary by Qui-Gon’s quarters being lived-in already. On the other hand, staying could possibly be misconstrued as a sign of attachment to his late master. But leaving could be seen as a sign of attachment, as well. If he stayed, he could argue that he was unattached enough to be able to live in the space he used to share with Qui-Gon without suffering any pain, but if he left, people could easily think it was because Obi-Wan wouldn’t be able to let go while still living in his and Qui-Gon’s rooms.

No matter what he did, it some of the Masters would see it as a sign of attachment. Because, to Obi-Wan’s great shame, he was attached. No matter what he did, it would stem from those motivations. He just wasn’t sure whether it would be better for _him_ to stay or to go.

He stared at the door.

Anakin tugged on his tunic. “Are we going to go in?”

Obi-Wan took a controlled breath. “Yes, we are, Anakin.” He had to do it quickly, or he would back out. Like ripping off a bacta patch, he threw the door open.

The familiar scent hit him all at once. The room smelled of him and of Qui-Gon, which wasn’t something he would have normally noticed, but he’d hadn’t realized how much he missed such a little thing as the familiar scent of his master.

When Anakin pushed by his leg to slip inside, Obi-Wan realized he hadn’t moved from the doorway. It took great effort to put one foot in front of the other and walk inside, and Anakin was watching him intensely the entire time. Once inside, the door slid shut, making a loud whoosh in the quiet temple.

Afterimages of Qui-Gon’s feelings bathed the room. So subtle and controlled, as typical of a Jedi Master, but Obi-Wan knew that Qui-Gon wasn’t the typical Jedi Master. When one knew what they were looking for, as Obi-Wan did, it was easy to see. Qui-Gon left a trail of impressions in the Force of his love for the universe and the beings in it, especially those he cared about, wherever he went.

But that mark in the Force wouldn’t last much longer— it only lasted as long as already had because the rooms had been uninhabited for just over a week. With Anakin and Obi-Wan living in them, it would disappear quickly. Anakin felt fiercely and frequently; his own intense impressions in the Force would quickly drown out what was left of Qui-Gon’s.

Obi-Wan grasped onto a thread of affection— affection Qui-Gon had for him— and held it close for a long moment, but it crumbled quickly under his grief.

He took a deep breath.

“Anakin,” he said, “welcome home.” Because clearly, if his thoughts were travelling the way they were, his subconscious had already decided for him— to stay. Obi-Wan and his new apprentice could build their lives on top of the remnants of the man who’d brought them together.

Anakin spun around, taking the room in. It wasn’t much, compared to the guest room they’d rested in at Theed, but at least Anakin and Obi-Wan would have separate bedrooms, as small as those bedrooms were. Speaking of, Obi-Wan would have to move all his clothes and his meager possessions into Qui-Gon’s room to make room for Anakin in the Padawan room.

The bedrooms and the refresher connected into a modestly-sized main room. Most standard rooms had a mini-kitchen in one corner, but Qui-Gon cooked for himself quite a bit more often than other Jedi tended to, and somehow— and Obi-Wan really had absolutely no idea how, considering how rarely anyone was allowed to seriously modify their quarters— he’d requisitioned them more proper cooking facilities. The cupboards were well stocked with ingredients, and one of them, the one where Qui-Gon kept the teas— had been left wide open. On the other side of the main room was a bright orange couch so beyond standard that Obi-Wan often wondered if Qui-Gon had to sneak it into the Temple. Obi-Wan had spent a lot of time sitting on that couch studying while his master sat at his side, doing whatever his work of the day was. The couch was positioned facing towards a holoprojector, with a small table at its side.

Qui-Gon had left a datapad out on it.

“It’s wonderful,” said Anakin finally.

Obi-Wan tore his eyes away. “The room on the left will be yours, the room on the right will be mine, and the door between them is to the refresher. We’re just going to need to move some things and sort through Qui-Gon’s stuff…”

They were Jedi. They didn’t have much _stuff_. Obi-Wan’s hand moved to rest against Qui-Gon’s lightsaber, which he hadn’t taken off since the battle with the Zabrak. Just his lightsaber, some clothes, a couple of mementos, and a few flavours of tea that Obi-Wan didn’t drink, but would likely remain in the cupboard nonetheless, could really be called Qui-Gon’s.

He sat Anakin down on the couch and handed him the datapad. Quickly, he brought up a page on the Jedi code for Anakin to read. “Stay there,” he said. “Study. I’ll be back momentarily.”

He raced into the room on the left and gathered up the small handful of possessions he had, and moved them into Qui-Gon’s room. In his rush, he had burst into the bedroom without really thinking, but the moment he looked at it, Qui-Gon’s loss hit him once more. Obi-Wan breathed in deeply, and walked across the room. Even though from that moment it was his room, no longer Qui-Gon’s, he still felt like he was intruding on someone else’s space. If the rest of the apartment felt and smelt of Qui-Gon, it had nothing on Qui-Gon’s bedroom.

Obi-Wan dropped his things on the bed and made another trip to gather up all his clothing from the drawers into a neat armful, and deposited them on top of the bed as well.

He closed the door behind him as he left. He’d deal with that emotional deathtrap waiting to happen later. Making Anakin comfortable in his new home, so far from anything he’s ever known and from everyone he’s ever known and loved, was Obi-Wan’s first priority.

Obi-Wan sat beside Anakin, who glanced up from his datapad questioningly.

He fidgeted. He didn’t know how to teach and raise a Padawan, let alone such an unusual one as Anakin. What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say? “I’ll— I’ll, um…I think I’ll make some tea?” There. That was something he and Qui-Gon did together, often. Discuss learning while sharing tea.

He stood up and made his way across the room to the kitchen, and then pulled the box of Sapir tea— Qui-Gon’s favourite— from the cupboard. He filled the teakettle, added a few teabags, set it on the stove to heat. It was when he pulled a generic mug from the cupboard that he realized Anakin was watching him. To him, he said, “You, keep reading.”

“Yes, Master.”

The cup slipped from his hands and hit the floor with a loud crash as it shattered.

The words came so naturally to Anakin that Obi-Wan suddenly suspected they were his first words. Even having met the boy when he was still owned by another being, Obi-Wan hadn’t quite grasped the full meaning of that until that exact moment. The statement was so loaded, Obi-Wan didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do with his realization. He’d spoken those same words himself hundreds, if not thousands, of times, and never had he said it quite like that.

That wasn’t the way Jedi said that.

That wasn’t the meaning they intended.

That wasn’t what he wanted Anakin thinking of him.

He looked down to pieces of smashed mug at his feet, and then to Anakin.

The boy looked so small. He was tiny, and his body language seemed to only serve to make him even tinier. He was trying not to take up space. To not be noticed. He held himself like an abused animal, and he flinched like he expected Obi-Wan to take a swing at him because he thought Obi-Wan was upset with him.

But Obi-Wan wasn’t upset with him. He was upset with Watto the Toydarian. He was upset with Tatooine and the Hutts and all the slavers of the Outer Rim, that this little boy that Obi-Wan had come to care about in such a short time had been made to feel like that. He was angry at himself, for his behaviour throughout the day. He was so caught up in returning to the Temple and all that entailed that he’d forgotten what he didn’t want to forget— that Anakin had some unexpected emotional needs. Emotional needs that needed to be dealt with, but not in a way that made Anakin lose trust in Obi-Wan. He was afraid that he’d lost that already.

Ignoring the broken porcelain that crunched under his shoes as he moved, he returned to the couch. Crouching down to Anakin’s level, he said carefully, “I’m not your master, Anakin.”

“But you said—”

“Not like that,” he interrupted before Anakin could finish. “Not ever like that.”

Anakin shuffled his feet and looked away.

“No,” said Obi-Wan, reaching forward to angle Anakin’s face towards him. “I’m your teacher.”

“I’ve never had one of those before,” replied Anakin quietly.

Obi-Wan smiled reassuringly. “I’ve never been one before, either, so I suppose we can both learn what it means together.”

The corners of Anakin’s lips curved upwards hesitantly.

“I do know this, though, Padawan: the master-student relationship is certainly different from the master-slave relationship. Yes,” he took a careful breath, “yes, I’m going to be telling you what to do sometimes. A lot of the times. And I’ll be doing it to teach you, to do what’s best for you, and what’s right by you. And you can question me. You’re allowed. By telling you what to do now, I’m going to be trying to give you the tools to be a Jedi without me later. I…” He didn’t know how to say it and be sure Anakin would understand. How could a former slave come to terms with being ordered around for their own good? “Think of me like your mother more than your master. You listened to what your mother asked you to do, didn’t you?”

Anakin nodded.

“I’ll be ordering you around for reasons like your mother would, not like Watto would. Please, Anakin, trust me.”

“Of course I trust you,” Anakin said, like there was no question in the matter at all. Like Anakin wasn’t expecting to be hurt at any moment.

Whatever he was trying to do, it clearly wasn’t working as he intended. Obi-Wan would have to try something else. “Anakin, I’m going to ask you to do something that the other Jedi are going to think is very strange when they notice.”

“What?”

Obi-Wan took a breath. He couldn’t believe he was throwing away thousands of years of Jedi tradition for this— for anything. “Don’t call me _Master_.”

Anakin blinked. “What? But… but that’s what you called Qui-Gon. That’s what Jedi call their—”

“I know that’s what Jedi call their teachers. But until you can say it and mean _teacher_ — and I mean, really mean it, Anakin— you can simply call me by my name.” The other Jedi Knights would be flabbergasted and the Masters would question the decision, but the more Obi-Wan thought about the idea, the more he liked it.

Anakin’s face fell. “I want to be a Jedi,” he said. “I don’t want to be treated differently than any other Jedi!”

Anakin needed to trust Obi-Wan properly. And he wasn’t going to do that as long as he carried all the baggage that he had attached to the word _master_ whenever he addressed Obi-Wan. Once he trusted Obi-Wan as a person, they could work on letting go of that baggage.

 “Anakin,” he said, “I will be honoured for you to call me _Master_ when you’re ready.”

“I am ready,” said Anakin.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, you’re not. And that’s okay. We can get there together.”

Anakin looked up to him, blue eyes sparkling.

“Now, how about that tea?”

“Yes mas—” Anakin cleared his throat. “I mean… that sounds nice… Obi-Wan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **(June 27/2015)**
> 
>  
> 
>  **Shared Quarters:** Okay, I checked Wookiepedia and was surprised to find this wasn't a thing according to it? I'm definitely sticking with the Master-Padawan shared quarters thing because it quite works for this fic and has always made sense to me… despite the fact that it's apparently fanon. _Rampant_ fanon at that, seeing as I've never actually run into a fic that addresses living arrangements and doesn't use this system, and to get Anakin out of Obi-Wan's quarters to sneak around with Padmé, people will make an excuse to make him an exception...


	4. Echo of a Mantra

Anakin had thought that Theed Palace was enormous, but it hardly compared to the Jedi Temple. Anakin didn’t have the words to describe how massive it was. If Theed Palace was a planet, then the Jedi Temple was a sun. As Anakin walked the hallways, just a step behind Obi-Wan, he couldn’t keep himself from looking up. Almost every hallway had a ceiling towering high above him, supported by grand, but simple arches. Every room he glanced into took his breath away. Compared to Theed, they weren’t lavish, but they _were_ rich. Anakin couldn’t point out a crack in the wall that wasn’t there by design. Sunlight streamed through well-shined windows, and there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere. What it lacked in extravagance, it made up for in cleanliness. It had to take a lot of money and work, even just in droids and their maintenance, to keep such a huge building so clean.

Distracted by admiring the sights, Anakin found himself crashing into Obi-Wan’s legs when he unexpectedly stopped. It threw Anakin off balance and he fell back onto the ground before he even realized what had happened. Obi-Wan turned and hid a smile. He offered his hand out to Anakin, and said, “Careful, there, young one.”

Anakin grabbed onto the hand, and Obi-Wan pulled him off the floor.

“I think I’m going to need a map if you ever expect me to find my way around this place,” Anakin said, looking around. “Where are we?”

“We’re in the First Knowledge Quarter.”

Anakin stared blankly.

“The Jedi Temple is very large,” Obi-Wan began.

Anakin had to hold back a sarcastic retort: did Obi-Wan think he hadn’t noticed that?

“Each quarter of the Temple is used for different purposes. You and I will be spending most of our time in this quarter of the Temple. It houses everything from the accommodation sector to the archives and library, along with analysis rooms, research labs, many training rooms, the Halls of Healing, and much, much more.”

“What about the other quarters?” asked Anakin. Obi-Wan shrugged. “Let’s worry about the rest of the Temple later, hm?” He pulled out a datapad from his pockets and handed it to Anakin. “I have already got this loaded up with a map for you, with restricted areas marked off—”

“Restricted areas?” Anakin whined.

“Yes. You don’t think a nine year-old Padawan would be allowed to wander anywhere in the Temple without rules, did you?” Obi-Wan shook his head. “Most areas are restricted with good reason. Beyond just administration offices which you wouldn’t want to go in anyway, the deeper you travel into the Temple, the older the building gets. Some of the innermost sections of the Temple, not even the Masters know their way around. If you wander in that deep, you’ll likely to be lost for weeks— if we ever find you at all.”

“Oh,” said Anakin.

“Oh,” repeated Obi-Wan.

Anakin shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “So…?”

Obi-Wan sighed. “So, right now we’re just outside the Archives. We’re going to take a walk through; please be respectful to the Jedi doing research and studying inside. Voices tend to carry, so please remain as quiet as possible.” He paused, as if searching for what he should discuss next. “I’m sure you’ll do a lot of private study in here over the years. There are trillions of texts inside, and some are even forbidden to read.”

“When am I going to start learning how to use a lightsaber?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan fidgeted. “I haven’t organized a lesson plan for you, yet. You have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Oh.”

Taking the lead once more, Obi-Wan entered the Archives. Anakin began gawking the moment he stepped insider. Obi-Wan had just said there were trillions of texts, but Anakin hadn’t believed that until he saw. The shelves went on and on, each one with hundreds and hundreds of holobooks glowing various blues— he’d never seen so much knowledge in one place.

A few Jedi idled around in silence, so casually, like they weren’t in such an amazing place. Though, Anakin had thought that of all the Jedi he’d passed in the halls, as well. He couldn’t imagine ever becoming so nonchalant about being there.

They weren’t halfway down the room when a stern-looking woman, with a geometric pattern on her robes and her white hair done up in a bun with a pair of sticks, approached them. “Is there anything I can help you find, Knight Kenobi?”

“Master Nu.” Obi-Wan greeted her with a polite bow. Anakin mimicked him. “I’d like to introduce you to my Padawan, Anakin Skywalker.”

She smiled kindly at him. “Hello, young Skywalker. Welcome to the Archive.” Looking back to Obi-Wan, she continued, “What are you looking for?”

“We’re just taking a look around,” he replied quickly. After a moment’s thought, he continued, “But now that you mention it, do you have any recommendations for, well—” His eyes flickered in Anakin’s direction, but he didn’t continue

“A first-time master,” Master Nu finished for him. “I get that question quite often, Knight Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan gave her an awkward smile. “Yes, please. Also… well, I’m also in need of some texts for my Padawan.”

“Oh?” asked Master Nu.

He nodded. “Anakin will be needing some holobooks on basic meditation, basic Jedi history, lightsaber basics, erm… a copy of _Understanding the Jedi Code—_ ”

“Basics, hm?” Master Nu interrupted.

“Yes,” said Obi-Wan, almost sounding ashamed. “Anything, really, that goes through the information younglings learn in the crèche.”

Anakin shuffled his feet uncomfortably. They were talking about him like he wasn’t even there. Deciding things for him like he wasn’t free to do so himself. Obi-Wan was apparently in charge of his reading material along with his schedule. Of course he would be. It looked like Obi-Wan would probably be in charge of Anakin’s everything. He should have expected as much, considering that he was Anakin’s _master_.

No. Anakin quashed that thought quickly. Obi-Wan said it wasn’t like that. But a little part of his mind quietly whispered that it was shaping up to look just like that. He had rules and restrictions, and he had to do whatever Obi-Wan told him to do. Anakin had to admit, he didn’t have experience with what it was like to be free, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t _quite_ what he would expect.

Master Nu led them to a desk, pulled two datapads from the drawer, and plugged it into a terminal. “I’ll load up the basics for young Anakin, and the standard new-master reading for you, right from the databanks. You can just sign out the datapads at the door after the transfer is complete. Is there anything else?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “You’ve been very helpful, Master Nu. Thank you.”

Her robes swished as she turned around and walked away. Anakin looked away from her and to Obi-Wan. He opened his mouth to speak, but he wasn’t quite sure what to say. He wanted to ask Obi-Wan about his relative freedom, but he had no idea how to go about it without disappointing him. Obi-Wan had been so disappointed in him the night before, when Anakin called him _Master_ ; he didn’t want to face that again.

Anakin leaned against the desk and waited quietly.

“Well, that’s a place to start with your training, I suppose.” Obi-Wan said quietly. “I guess we both have some homework to do.”

“Homework?” Anakin asked. He’d never heard a phrase like that before. Work— at home? “Is that like housework? Like, cleaning and cooking?”

Obi-Wan blinked. “It’s learning, outside of the classroom,” he explained. “Speaking of classes, I’m sure there are some Padawan-level courses we can enroll you in that don’t require catch-up. Maybe not a heavy load— not enough to interfere with the time spent on your basics— but perhaps just a few to give you some group lessons with people your own age rather than just private lessons with me.”

Anakin wasn’t much interested in interacting with the Jedi his own age. He wouldn’t have anything in common with them. He’d much prefer being able to at least pretend he knew what he was doing as a Jedi before he tackled social interaction. Obi-Wan didn’t quite understand where Anakin came from— he couldn’t, even with what he saw, just because he was from such an idealistic place as the Jedi Temple felt— but at least he knew. Anakin didn’t want anyone else to know, though, and he didn’t think he could hide it from them the way he was. Anakin needed to change, first.

The terminal made a soft dinging sound, indicating that the download was finished. Obi-Wan disconnected the datapads, passed one to Anakin while slipping the other into his own robes, and they continued on their tour.

***

After that first day, it didn’t take long to settle into a routine, and a boring one at that. Anakin spent almost all his time playing catch-up with the datapad from the Archive; with Obi-Wan constantly doing his own reading as well, the pair rarely even left their quarters. And when Anakin wasn’t reading, Obi-Wan was helping him try to meditate.

Meditation was the most difficult part of his Jedi training. Sure, there was lots of things— like lightsaber training— he hadn’t started yet, but he couldn’t imagine anything being as difficult as meditation was. They spent a lot of time working on it, and still, Anakin failed to achieve what Obi-Wan wanted.

“The stillness allows you to center yourself and achieve deep inner peace,” he was explaining, as Anakin sat on the floor in front of him, trying once again. “It’s like finding an eye of calm within the center of one's storm of emotions. Focus on nothing but your breathing. Your memories are shadows and your thoughts and feelings are nothing— there is only the Force.”

Obi-Wan fell silent, and Anakin breathed. In, out— Obi-Wan was beginning to get exasperated about Anakin’s constant failure. He was trying to reign it in, but Anakin could still feel it swirling around, mixed with a touch of worry. In, out— actually, Obi-Wan was beginning to feel a bit annoyed. That was new.

“Anakin, stop.”

Anakin opened his eyes, crossed his arms, and looked up to Obi-Wan’s standing form. “Stop what?” he asked. “I wasn’t doing anything. I haven’t been able to do anything, yet.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “You are doing something, and it has to stop.” Frustration built in the room, thick and heavy. “Anakin, you’re doing it right now.”

“Doing what?”

“That! That probing.”

Blinking, Anakin asked, “Probing?”

Obi-Wan sighed, and joined Anakin on the floor. Gently, he said, “You don’t even realize that you’re doing it, do you?”

“Doing _what_?”

“You know what I’m feeling right now.”

Anakin shrugged. “Not any more so than usual, really.”

Obi-Wan mouthed those words to himself, feeling surprised and furrowing his eyebrows. “You mean to say… you do this all the time?”

Nodding, Anakin replied, “Yes.”

“Don’t.”

He frowned. “What do you mean, _don’t_? It’s not something I really control…”

“Okay,” said Obi-Wan, “looks like we’re going to need to work on controlling that, then.”

“Why?”

He folded his hands in his lap, and recited, as if from memory, “A Jedi uses the Force to satisfy the will of the Force— not to satisfy their own curiosity.” Immediately, alarm bells rang in Anakin’s head: shouldn’t he be in control of how he uses his own powers, not controlled by them? He didn’t want to be controlled by anything besides himself— he was freed of that when he was, well, freed. He didn’t have long to dwell on that thought, because Obi-Wan continued speaking. “Being a Jedi does not put you above other’s privacy, and this probing of yours intrudes on that.”

Anakin looked away and mumbled, “I’ve always been able to feel other people’s emotions. I don’t know _how_ to stop.”

Obi-Wan’s upset storm of emotions was replaced by a wave of sympathy. “I’m not sure what to tell you, Anakin. Probing has always been something I’ve had to put effort into. It’s okay to feel strong emotions, especially from people who don’t control them like the Jedi do, but what you’re doing is invasive and wrong.”

Was there nothing with the Force that Anakin could do right? The way things were going, he didn’t understand why the Jedi had taken him in at all. He was breaking their rules, was completely unable to meditate, and didn’t know anything that a Jedi of his age needed to know… how could he be worth anything to the Jedi Order?

Obi-Wan sighed. “It’s a bad habit, Anakin, and it needs to be broken.”

“But how?” Anakin asked again.

Stroking his chin thoughtfully, Obi-Wan said, “What you’re doing is reaching out with the Force to scrutinize the Force presence of others. Everyone has a Force presence and it tends to leave impressions of what they feel and what they are, wherever they’ve been. You might’ve developed this ability to the point where it’s a natural sixth sense to you, and that will make things difficult, but not impossible. Imagine if you walked in a person in the refresher— that’s metaphorically what you do when you probe their emotions— how would you preserve their privacy?”

“Close my eyes? Close the door?”

“Exactly,” said Obi-Wan. “It might not be easy, but once you understand how to block off this sense, then, when you realize that you’re intruding on a person’s privacy, you can, metaphorically, close your eyes.” He smiled sheepishly. “At least, in theory. It might need a little bit more practice and research. Take a look at the chapter _Conquering Curiosity_ in _Understanding the Jedi Code_ , I’m sure they’ll be some useful information in there about keeping to yourself…” Obi-Wan trailed off and fell into silence, watching Anakin expectantly.

Anakin closed his eyes. “So, whatever I’m doing right now—” Obi-Wan felt nervous before, but when Anakin spoke, there was a quick flash of embarrassment. “I need to close my eyes. Cut that off.” He didn’t know how to do that. He had no idea. It had to be less like closing his eyes and more like blocking off touch— he couldn’t control his sense of touch like that. He concentrated, but quickly grew frustrated with himself when he could still feel every nuance of Obi-Wan’s presence before him.

Obi-Wan reached forward and squeezed his arm. “Can I try something, Anakin?”

“Sure,” said Anakin. Anything to make a bit of progress.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and reached out to Anakin with the Force. Figuring that was the thing Obi-Wan had just asked permission for, Anakin allowed him to grab on and begin pulling Anakin deep into Obi-Wan’s own presence. He felt poked and prodded for a moment, and then Obi-Wan retreated from him, just a little bit.

Anakin tried to follow him, but Obi-Wan sent a strong sensation of disagreement in Anakin’s direction, so Anakin’s attention remained where Obi-Wan left him. Obi-Wan poked a part of him that was reaching out, and silently requested Anakin reign it in, so Anakin did. He made such a move a few times, finding various loose tendrils of Anakin’s consciousness that were reaching out to the world, and having Anakin pull them close to himself. He’d never noticed his own Force presence before— in fact, he was pretty sure he was experiencing his own presence through Obi-Wan’s awareness of it rather than his own. It was a strange sensation.

As more tendrils of himself wrapped close, the less he felt from the outside world. The vague feeling of a crowd that the Temple had been giving him since he arrived faded away. The already quiet feelings from their neighbours calmed into complete silence. The children a few floors up almost seemed to disappear, and that last sense of Qui-Gon that lingered in the apartment dwindled. Soon, the only thing Anakin could feel was Obi-Wan and himself.

Obi-Wan took a final tendril into his caring arms, and brought it to Anakin. He placed it into Anakin’s own arms, and when he let go, everything disappeared. For the first time in his life, Anakin couldn’t feel anything but his own pounding heart and racing thoughts. He was blind.

And, all at once, it came rushing back.

Anakin opened his eyes. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” Obi-Wan said quickly. “I’m sorry. That was too much. I didn’t just pull back your awareness from others, but also from the Force itself. It was an extreme that you don’t have to go to.” With a sigh, he asked, “But do you understand a little better now?”

Obi-Wan felt unsure of himself, and Anakin focused on that awareness, and pulled it back. The rest of the world wasn’t cut off from him, but Obi-Wan’s emotions disappeared.

“I think so, yeah,” said Anakin. He could try working on that.

***

Anakin’s bedroom was bare. He hadn’t really taken much notice the first nights at the Temple, but even as time began to crawl by, it remained bare and empty. Anakin remembered a few bedrooms of free kids he’d known on Tatooine— poor kids, even— and they’d never had rooms so bare. Even his room in his slave-hovel had been more personal than his room in the Jedi Temple— at home, he had a few posters from podracing pinned to the walls, but he wasn’t allowed to do that at the Temple. He was on the richest planet in the galaxy, in a complex that must have cost more money than Anakin could imagine to build, and his room had pale walls and a plain tile floor without even a rug.

He didn’t even get a better selection of clothing, like Obi-Wan had said he would. All of it was still coloured like the sands of Tatooine; he felt more like a slave than ever.

Well, his room did have one thing, at that moment.

It had a cleaning droid— more accurately, the pieces of a cleaning droid— scattered across the floor.

Anakin was inspecting a loose circuit board carefully, trying to decide what its function was, when his bedroom door swung open.

That was another problem. Obi-Wan didn’t seem to have a sense of personal space, at least, in the physical world. It wasn’t the amount of time Obi-Wan spent in his space that Anakin took issue with; no, Obi-Wan wasn’t exactly pushing into Anakin’s space often, but he seemed completely unaware that there was anything wrong with it when it did. He didn’t seem to understand the concept of Anakin having room for himself that was just his own and that Obi-Wan wasn’t welcome in it without permission. Anakin’s bedroom was Anakin’s space— as bare as it was, it was one of the few things Anakin could call his— and it didn’t even have a locking system for Anakin to make use of. He was seriously considering installing one. It couldn’t be that hard, could it?

“What’s this?” Obi-Wan asked immediately, pointing to the mostly-intact head of the droid at his feet.

Anakin shrugged.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath; he was frustrated, and Anakin quickly backed off his awareness before Obi-Wan could notice he’d been looking. “Anakin, what are you doing?”

For a moment, Anakin thought Obi-Wan had caught his probing, but Obi-Wan was still staring at the droid on the ground. “I’m just having a bit of fun, Obi-Wan.” He held the circuit board towards him. “Here, that’s part of the head. It controls the droid’s movements, as far as I can tell. We never had droids this advanced on Tatooine, at least without being deeply involved with the Hutts—”

“Anakin, it’s in pieces.”

“I can put it back together!”

Obi-Wan rubbed his forehead. “Then do so, please. Before anyone notices that it’s missing.”

“But I—”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, his voice strong and demanding.

“I just wanted to see how it worked,” Anakin said quietly, flinching away.

Obi-Wan sighed and crouched down to his level. “Padawan, there are many ways to learn how things work without tearing them apart.” He took Anakin’s hand— there he was with that personal space thing again— and pulled him up from the floor. “You can ask me, to start, and if I don’t know the answer, I might have ideas on where else to look. You can look for the information in the Archives. I can enroll you in classes on the subject.” Obi-Wan sat Anakin down on his bed, and then took a seat beside him. “You don’t have to figure out everything on your own.”

Obi-Wan said that, sure, but Anakin was spending most of his time independently studying texts while Obi-Wan did his own personal reading. Anakin couldn’t say that to him, no. That kind of lip would likely get him into trouble. Instead, he just responded with a simple, “I’m sorry.”

Obi-Wan smiled gently.

“On the subject of asking you questions, though,” Anakin began carefully, “I have some questions about my reading.”

Obi-Wan stroked his chin. “I’ll answer to the best of my ability, then.”

“Okay.” Anakin took a deep breath. “What’s with this _no emotion_ thing?”

“ _There is no emotion; there is peace_?” Obi-Wan asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “That one.”

“What about it?”

“Well, the book tried to explain it, but I still don’t really understand. How do emotions lead to the Dark Side?”

Obi-Wan remained silent for a long moment. Anakin began worrying that he might not think the question worthy of an answer— or worse, he didn’t have an answer, but then he spoke. “Things like fear, anger, hatred—”

“I get that much,” Anakin interrupted. “Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to the Dark Side. Yoda told me that during my test. But how do things like happiness and love lead to the Dark Side? What’s wrong with those emotions?”

“In theory?” Obi-Wan shrugged lightly. “Nothing. But emotions, even the so-called good ones, are often born through selfishness, and selfish desires can lead to the Dark Side. And you can’t have one side of something without the other— even an unselfish love will eventually lead to despair.”

Anakin blinked. Obi-Wan was talking about himself— about Qui-Gon. He reached across the space in-between them to give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You haven’t fallen to the Dark Side yet.”

“I’ve also been releasing my emotions into the Force. Left unchecked, despair leads to anger.” After a short pause, he added, “That’s why I worry about you, Anakin, and the fact we haven’t made any progress on your meditation yet.”

Anakin tried to look ashamed, but he wasn’t, really. Not of his emotions. Sure, Obi-Wan’s explanation made a bit more sense than the book’s simple orders, but it still wasn’t enough. He didn’t want to let go of his emotions. His emotions had, for his whole life, been the only thing he could really call entirely his own— and, really, they still were. At least when he was a slave, he was allowed to have some emotions. Nobody ever required him to completely purge them like Obi-Wan was asking him to. Like Obi-Wan was spending so much time and effort trying to get him to do.

The only thing he was ashamed of was that he was deliberately disappointing Obi-Wan. But, more and more, Anakin was beginning to worry that Obi-Wan didn’t really like him like he’d thought. On Tatooine and on Naboo he’d been so sure that Obi-Wan cared about him— he must have, then, because Anakin had felt it, but Anakin was deliberately not feeling Obi-Wan’s emotions, so he couldn’t be certain of anymore. Obi-Wan was quite set on not having emotions. And caring was an emotion.

Did he care at all, or was he just taking care of Anakin out of some sort of sense of duty?

“In fact,” Obi-Wan continued, “I came to see if you wanted to work on your meditation.”

Anakin made a face. “Do I have to?”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “Yes, Padawan. Meditation is not optional for a Jedi.” He leaned in and said, in a whisper like he was sharing a secret and they could be overheard despite the fact they were alone in Anakin’s room, “Meditation is the bane of all Padawans, young one. But it grows on you, eventually. It always does.”

Anakin didn’t like that thought: of becoming content with a practice through sheer forced over-exposure. It sounded more like conditioning to him.

Obi-Wan stood up. “I was going to have you work on your meditation,” he said, “but it seems that we do have a more urgent issue that needs to be dealt with.” Grinning almost mischievously, he said, “You do have to get that droid back in working order before anyone notices that it’s missing.”

And at those words, Anakin was certain that Obi-Wan still cared. He smiled widely back.

***

Another day, another chapter of _Understanding the Jedi Code_ to puzzle over. Anakin was spread out on the couch, a datapad in his hands, while Obi-Wan was finishing a round of meditation on the floor, just a few feet away. As Obi-Wan’s grief storm— it lessened in intensity every day, and Anakin only barely could call it a storm any longer— began to settle, Anakin quickly withdrew his awareness. Obi-Wan was coming to, and Anakin didn’t want to be caught watching Obi-Wan’s force presence, no matter that he wasn’t so much doing it out of his own curiosity and more out of concern for Obi-Wan’s wellbeing.

Obi-Wan’s eyes opened.

“So,” Anakin began immediately. “About this whole _Honour your Master_ thing—”

With a light chuckle, Obi-Wan said, “I’ve never seen you so excited to discuss your reading, Anakin. Will you allow me to get up from the floor first?”

“Sure,” Anakin waved his hand dismissively, “but this is important.”

Obi-Wan didn’t waste time getting up, though Anakin had to readjust himself to make room for Obi-Wan on the couch. “Ask away, young Padawan.”

Anakin pointed to the screen, where the chapter title was prominently displayed. “You said being my _Master_ was nothing like being my slave-master.”

With a nod, Obi-Wan replied, “Yes, I did.”

“Then why doesn’t it sound any different?” Anakin scrolled down to see the text and began to read aloud the sentences that had caught his attention. “ _Padawans should always show great respect to their Masters. Padawans should never disagree with their Masters, especially to the point of argument. Padawans should only address their Masters in discussion with others when they have been addressed themselves._ Sounds familiar to me.” In fact, if Anakin replaced the word _Padawan_ with _slave_ through the entire chapter, it would still be perfectly accurate, though not the entire story.

Obi-Wan didn’t respond for a long moment, but then grabbed his own datapad from the small table beside the couch, where it sat atop a pile of spare circuits that Anakin had acquired. He quickly brought up a file and handed it over to Anakin. “Your book on the Jedi code has a version of this article, too, but it’s a bit more detailed, and probably more convincing, out of _Teaching the Jedi Code_.” Obi-Wan pointed to a paragraph. “Read it, please.”

So Anakin did. “ _As a Jedi Master, you must honour your Padawan as much as they are required to honour you. This is a basic responsibility, and breaking it is grounds for removal of the Padawan from the Master. It also serves to teach by example. Always treat your Padawan with respect. Never reprimand your Padawan in public, or punish them for disagreeing with you. Praise your Padawan, especially in the presence of others. This strengthens the Master-Apprentice bond and helps a Padawan gain a healthy level of confidence—_ ”

“Do you trust me?” Obi-Wan interrupted.

It had never been a matter of distrusting Obi-Wan— not really, because Obi-Wan was an angel— but just because he, at that point in time, trusted Obi-Wan to not treat him like a slave, didn’t mean he could get behind an organization that believed in treating anyone like slaves or feel certain that Obi-Wan would continue to treat him like a person forever while surrounded by such a mindset.

Anakin lowered the datapad. It continued on just like that for as far as Anakin could see…

But even if Anakin couldn’t trust the words in some text, he did trust Obi-Wan, so he nodded slowly.

A small smile spread across Obi-Wan’s face. “Thank you.”

Anakin looked away from him, unable to catch his eye but he wasn’t quite sure why, and a he couldn’t help but grin to himself as well.

“I’ve been thinking,” said Obi-Wan, “we’ve been spending quite a bit of time in here reading and meditating. It’s about time we head out and face the rest of the Jedi, hm?”

Anakin fidgeted. He was getting a bit stir-crazy— the last time he’d spent so much time in such a small, enclosed space was that one time a sandstorm had raged on for a week and a half. At the same time, though, he feared what the other Jedi would think of him. And what they’d think of Obi-Wan, for taking on such a Padawan as him. Instead of saying that, though, he said, “Sure.” Jedi weren’t afraid of anything, and that wasn’t a childish exaggeration like how only a few weeks before he’d said that nobody could kill a Jedi. He spent a lot of time reading up on how Jedi weren’t supposed to feel fear or let themselves be controlled by it.

Obi-Wan stood. “Let’s go for a walk, then.” As he headed towards the door, Anakin rolled off the couch unenthusiastically, and then began to follow behind him.

With a swish, the door closed behind them. “Where are we going,” asked Anakin.

“There’s something I want to show you,” Obi-Wan replied.

The setting Coruscant sun shone red through the windows, casting long shadows as they walked through the outermost halls. The sound of their footsteps on the tile floor echoed the high-ceilinged corridors; Anakin could hear the click-clop of other Jedi walking in the distance long before they encountered any.

After walking for quite a time without saying anything, Obi-Wan broke the silence. “I’ve enrolled you in a few classes,” he said, just low enough for his voice not to carry. “Ones that you don’t need a specific background from the crèche to understand.”

Anakin tried to make an excited expression but, at best, he probably just barely managed to not look disappointed. He’d never been in a class before. Obi-Wan had mentioned it a couple times, but Anakin was more comfortable with the familiarity of one-to-one teaching like he used to learn from his mother.

“It’s just _Beginner Negotiations_ , _First_ _Galactic Law,_ and— I’m sure you’ll like this one better— _General Mechanics_. You can enroll in more Jedi-specific subjects when we have a stronger background on Jedi teachings, but having only three courses leaves us lots of time for catching up.”

Anakin said, “Alright.”

Obi-Wan didn’t say anything more, though he did seem to be thinking very hard about something. They walked until they reached a grand pair of doors; like most things that Anakin used that word to describe in the Jedi Temple, they were very simple but also very large. Except, unlike most doors in the Temple that were made of metals that swished open, the two doors before them were wooden and swung open when they approached.

He followed Obi-Wan through the doors into a short passageway. At the end of the passageway was a platform, and when they reached it, Anakin froze and stared.

It was so… so… green. Everything was green, except the ceiling— and ceiling was hardly a proper term for what was above the room. If Anakin didn’t know in his head that they were still too low in the Temple for a room to be able to open up to the sky, Anakin would’ve thought it was the sky. It glowed orange like the Coruscant sunset outside, still bright but with the hint of oncoming darkness.

He’d focused on the plants, next— they covered everything, so completely unlike anything on Tatooine and even the parts of Naboo that he’d visited. It was like a forest— Anakin had encountered the word in his reading and this was the first thing he’d ever seen that was like what Obi-Wan told him a forest was like.

Water was flowing. The sound was coming from somewhere unseen, but it echoed in the room from everywhere. And there was a distant roar that sounded vaguely like water as well, but Anakin could never imagine how water could be quite that loud.

Anakin began down one of the stone paths that led from the platform— just in front of Obi-Wan— gaping.

“Welcome,” Obi-Wan said, “to the Room of a Thousand Fountains.”

Anakin had seen fountains on Naboo. They were beautiful pieces of stonework that used water, of all things, for decoration.

“There are a thousand fountains in here?” Anakin mumbled, not really intending for Obi-Wan to answer him.

“That’s what they say,” Obi-Wan said, “but I don’t think anyone’s ever taken the time to count them.”

Anakin turned to Obi-Wan. “And what’s that sound? The loud one?”

“The waterfall in the center.”

“Water… fall?”

Obi-Wan grinned. “How about I just show you?”

He passed Anakin again and began leading him expertly through the winding stone paths. They passed quite a few fountains on their way, and Anakin counted them. One in the center of a path, surrounded by benches. Two, just off to the side, almost hidden by foliage. Three, in the center again, and four in the distance. Five, six, seven…

The numbers disappeared from his mind when he caught sight of the roaring thing that must have been Obi-Wan’s _waterfall_.

Atop an indoor mountain that went up at least three stories from where Anakin stood and down three stories as well, gallons and gallons of water cascaded off an enormous cliff face and into a vast pool below.

A spray of water misted his face. For a moment, Anakin couldn’t breathe.

He turned to Obi-Wan, grinning widely, though he couldn’t actually form words to communicate exactly how amazed he felt.

Obi-Wan let him gape for a long while before leading him over to a bench facing towards the waterfall and sitting him down on it. It was a long time before he said anything to draw Anakin’s attention away from the sight before him. Eventually, though, he did. “I’ve made an appointment for you with the Healer’s—”

Anakin turned away from the waterfall to stare at Obi-Wan, not trying to hide his distaste. “Did you have to?”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “I’d have thought you would be excited to see the Healers?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Well, how else are we going to have a chat with them about that _explosive slave chip_ that’s still in your body somewhere?”

Anakin blinked as the words processed. “Oh,” he said. That made a lot of sense. Anakin wasn’t a slave anymore, so he had to have someone remove the chip.

He would be having someone remove the chip.

The words processed slowly in his mind, but when they sunk in, Anakin suddenly felt like he could explode from excitement. He launched himself off the bench and at Obi-Wan; Anakin tightly hugged his waist, laughing loudly from either happiness or relief— maybe even both. That was exactly what he needed; maybe if the chip was gone, he could finally let go. He could finally stop seeing continued slavery in everything. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He couldn’t repeat the words enough.

Maybe removing the chip was all he needed to get over it and be able to make Obi-Wan proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notes (July 4/2015):**  
>  Thanks to my beta, BeautyOnFyre from AO3. You're a wonderful help with both catching my flubs and bouncing ideas off. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> **Jedi Temple Architecture and Layout:** I spent ages of Wookiepedia trying to understand how the Jedi Temple was laid out so Obi-Wan could give Anakin a basic overview and so I didn’t make stupid mistakes later on. Please tell me anything that you think is wrong so I can correct it. Considering there are some contradictory things, well, please forgive me. 
> 
> **“Is there anything I can help you find, Knight Kenobi?”:** Again, an addition about content lost in favour of a strong POV… Jocasta Nu knowing that Obi-Wan is no longer a Padawan and approaching him to offer help is supposed to indicate that she’s been given warning of Obi-Wan’s situation and that he would likely visit. Obi-Wan has caught this, easily, because there’s thousands of people in the Jedi Order and his Knighthood wasn’t exactly a public spectacle and he’s not been back in the Temple for a day yet. If Jocasta knows he’s a Knight, then she knows about his current situation. This, of course, goes right over Anakin’s head. 
> 
> **Jedi Code:** Disclaimer, there is some wording that was taken directly from the Wookiepedia article on it.
> 
> **Sidenote, FFN vs AO3 Feedback:** I tend not to discuss reviews in my chapters, but I got a particularly... difficult, I guess is the word... anon review on FFN that's prompted me to notice a huge difference in the feedback I've gotten on the subject of shipping on the two sites. For clarity, what I intended to get across with the note on the subject in my foreword was that shipping is undecided but also not up for discussion. Nobody has said anything upsetting here on AO3; this is just a general rule of mine since a _Harry Potter_ genfic I posted on FFN received a lot of hate for a canon ship whenever the involved characters (platonically, as this fic had no ships) shared a scene. I don’t mind the gentle prod of “this is what I’d like to see/what I think would work in the internal logic of this AU”, but I really don’t want to hear about what people _don’t_ want. The funny thing is, really, how people discussed ships on each site. The people who had something to say on the subject here on AO3 went, “You should totally make it an OT3”— which, honestly, while we’re discussing the subject, isn’t an impossibility as it’s a pairing that I adore, but no promises— “but whatever is fine.” Meanwhile, on FFN, those who had something to say went, “Eww, slash. Don’t do that.” (Though, the earlier person polite about it.) I think that’s really interesting.
> 
> That aside, thanks to all my reviewers. You guys are amazing. I just love reading all your comments— I’m so glad you’re enjoying this. Hope to see you all again, same time next week!


	5. Ways of the Jedi

It was such a lovely morning. Well, late morning. Anakin was still sleeping peacefully in his bed after a late night of refusing to leave the Room of a Thousand Fountains until he was so tired that Obi-Wan had to carry Anakin back to their rooms, and Obi-Wan himself had only just awoken and made something to eat. He stretched his arms to the ceiling lazily and yawned. He always savoured being able to slowly drift into wakefulness over the course of an hour rather than have to climb out of bed and begin his day immediately. He thought those mornings would be aplenty as a Knight with his own apprentice, but Anakin, it turned out, had a tendency to wake up at ungodly hours. After the second day that Obi-Wan had entered the kitchenette to find Anakin tearing apart a piece of technology on the table, he had realized that the only way to keep Anakin out of trouble in those early morning hours was to get up with him, and Obi-Wan’s lazy mornings were lost almost as quickly as they’d begun.

Such a treat, it was, to be able to—

Knock knock.

And then the door swished open before Obi-Wan could even look up from his breakfast. Still watching his plate, he said, “Vos, we’ve discussed this before. You knock, and then you wait to be invited inside.”

Quinlan Vos flopped onto the chair across from him and threw his feet up onto the table. “So, I heard you got yourself a Padawan?”

Obi-Wan sighed. “Yes, I have—”

“When I left, you were still a Padawan yourself!”

“Yes, I was.” He placed his fork back down on the table. “If you’ll quiet down a little, please, as to not wake my Padawan—”

“He’s still asleep?” Quinlan asked. “I know you’re new to this, Kenobi, but it’s good to make sure your Padawan wakes with the sun. Haven’t you done any of the assigned reading for this job?”

Obi-Wan did not have the energy for Quinlan’s antics so early in his day; he sighed deeply once again. “Is there a point to your visit, or did you just come to have a bit of fun at my expense?”

Quinlan laughed. “Don’t be like that, Obi-Wan!”

“Quin.” Obi-Wan said the name like a threat.

Throwing his arms up in the air, Quinlan said, “Alright, alright.” He removed his feet from the table and leaned in. “I really did come to meet your Padawan. And congratulate you on your Knighthood.” He paused for a short second before adding, “And give my condolences. Qui-Gon Jinn was a great Jedi.”

“Yes,” said Obi-Wan. “He was.” He poked his fork into a stringy vegetable and twirled it around his fork absently.

“Jedi Knight, huh,” Quinlan continued, barely missing a beat. “So you’ve finally caught up with me. I was beginning to think you’d be a Padawan forever.”

“Just because I wasn’t trying to rush the process like you did doesn’t mean I was behind. If I didn’t hear from Master Tholme himself that you were really Knighted, I would’ve hardly believed it. You can’t have learned everything you needed to know.”

“I’m just a quicker learner than you. Ever consider that?”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Of course I haven’t— for a good reason.”

Quinlan threw his head back and laughed loudly. “Don’t say things like that, Obi-Wan. I know I’m secretly your favourite.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Vos.” Obi-Wan waved his hand dismissively.

“So, your Padawan—”

“He’s asleep—”

Obi-Wan was interrupted by the swishing sound of another door opening. Anakin stood just inside his bedroom, still wearing his nightclothes, hair sticking up at odd angles with his braid fallen loose, and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I’m up.” He yawned widely. “What’s going on, Obi-Wan?”

“Good morning, Anakin.”

Quinlan looked between Anakin and Obi-Wan, not saying a word. Normally, anyone rendering Quinlan Vos speechless was cause for celebration; Obi-Wan was always thoroughly impressed whenever anyone managed it. If he didn’t know exactly what Anakin had said to do it, Obi-Wan probably would have rewarded him somehow for quietening Quinlan within the first two sentences Anakin ever spoke in front of him.

Obi-Wan tried to pretend he hadn’t noticed Quinlan’s pointed silence. “Would you like some breakfast?” He gestured to his plate. “There’s some on the stove for you.” He pointed across the table. “This is Knight Vos. He just got back from a mission and came to visit. Say _hello,_ Quinlan.”

Quinlan stared at Anakin for another long moment before saying, “Hello.”

“Hi,” Anakin replied. He fidgeted under Quinlan’s continued gaze, and then hurried over to the stove to throw some of Obi-Wan’s vegetable-nut medley onto a plate and joined them at the table. Still uncomfortable, he tried not to look at Quinlan and turned to Obi-Wan. “So,” he said, “my braid came undone during the night. Can you fix it?”

Obi-Wan smiled lightly. “I noticed. Had you left it in all this time?” He really didn’t want to air his and Anakin’s dirty laundry in front of Quinlan, but he also didn’t want to make Anakin even more uncomfortable by acting like there was anything unusual going on.

Anakin nodded. “Maybe you could show me how to do it?”

Obi-Wan ran his fingers through his own hair. “I’ve been looking for an opportunity to show you for quite a time, now.”

Anakin grinned widely. “Wizard.”

As Obi-Wan continued to eat steadily and quietly, Anakin shovelled his breakfast into his mouth like he expected it to be taken away from him if he took too long. For all Obi-Wan knew, he did: he often ate like that in the mornings, and it made Obi-Wan wonder.

When Anakin excused himself from the table and slipped into the refresher, Quinlan finally spoke again. “He _is_ a strange one like they say.”

“They?” Obi-Wan inquired.

Quinlan shrugged.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Please tell me you didn’t come over here to gawk at my _strange_ Padawan like an animal at the zoo.”

“No.” Quinlan stood. “I really did come to offer my condolences to my _favourite_ old friend. Gawking at his strange Padawan like an animal in a zoo was just a fortunate bonus.”

Obi-Wan huffed, trying to sound disappointed, but disappointment required surprise.

“Catch you later, Obi-Wan.” Quinlan strolled to the door. When he reached it, it swished open. He turned back to give a quick, casual wave, and then left. Obi-Wan stared at the door for a minute, glaring at it like it would open any second to reveal that Quinlan hadn’t left, but Obi-Wan could feel his presence in the Force moving away.

He leaned over the table, resting his head in his hands, and let out a stressed sigh. Quinlan wasn’t a Jedi so strict about the Code, sure, but that didn’t mean what he’d just witnessed wouldn’t get spread around to Jedi who _would_ be upset by Obi-Wan and Anakin’s decidedly non-traditional arrangement. Sure, it had to get out eventually— soon, even— but he still wasn’t looking forward to it.

The refresher door creaked open a few inches and Anakin stuck his head through. “Is he gone?”

Obi-Wan relaxed his posture. It would do no good to let Anakin think he was upset. “Yes, he’s gone.”

“Good.” Anakin let the doors open fully and returned to the table. He fiddled his fingers, and looked up to Obi-Wan questioningly. “Why was everything so tense?” Obi-Wan opened his mouth to respond, but Anakin cut him off before he could speak, adding, “You’re still tense.”

“It’s nothing for you to worry about, Anakin.” Obi-Wan reached across the space between them to ruffle Anakin’s hair. “I’ll deal with the other Jedi. You just worry about learning, okay?”

Anakin sighed. “Okay.” He tugged awkwardly on the loose, long, wavy strand of hair under his right ear. “Can you show me how to braid, now?”

Obi-Wan looked down to his breakfast. He had hardly eaten any of it while Quinlan had been watching them, and although it was quite cold, he did intend to finish it. He had a long day prepared for them, and likely wouldn’t get much of a chance for another full meal until evening. “Why don’t you take a nice, long shower first, Anakin?” Though, Anakin’s definition of a long water-shower was Obi-Wan’s definition of a quick one.

Anakin nodded, and returned to the refresher. The water began running, and Obi-Wan returned to his meal. He’d likely have to face Jedi more judgmental than Quinlan in the Halls of Healing when he and Anakin arrived for their appointment. Anakin needed to look perfect and be on his best behaviour. He couldn’t let them think that Anakin’s upbringing was a drawback or that Obi-Wan’s less than traditional choices about his training would be a hindrance.

Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan wished they could just go back to the night before, where it was just him and Anakin enjoying the waterfall and each other’s company. That was nice and peaceful and relaxing and everything that the day was shaping out not to be.

It wasn’t five minutes before Anakin returned, his hair dripping wet and a towel slung over his shoulders to keep his robes dry. Obi-Wan had given up on his breakfast and was rinsing his plate when Anakin plopped onto the couch and announced, “I’m ready!”

Obi-Wan chuckled quietly to himself. On the subject of energetic people that he didn’t have the energy for in the morning…

He sat down beside Anakin and tugged on the wet strands of hair. “I don’t think it’s long enough for me to just let you watch.” He paused. If not by sight, how could he show Anakin the motions of braiding? “Anakin, can I borrow your hands?”

Anakin turned to give him a strange look.

Obi-Wan just shrugged in response, and lightly took Anakin’s hands. He quickly split the hair into three sections, and began manipulating Anakin’s hands through the familiar motions of braiding, explaining as they went. “Just cross one strand over into the center, and then the one across from that over into the center, and then the one across from that…”

About halfway down, Obi-Wan let go and allowed Anakin to finish on his own. The result was a bit of a mess, but it was a start.

Obi-Wan lightly grabbed onto the tiny braid and undid the knots. With his own hands, he made the first couple of crosses to ensure they were nice and tight, and then he guided Anakin’s hands to the strands. “Hold here,” he said. “Tightly. Cross left strand. Cross right strand.” He let go of Anakin’s hands and let him continue on his own again. “Left strand over, right strand over, left strand over,” all the way until the braid was complete.

It looked almost passable, so Obi-Wan slipped a tie around the end. “See,” he said. “Not hard at all. You did great.”

Anakin beamed at him.

***

When they left their quarters, Anakin could almost be mistaken for a proper Jedi Padawan. Except that the braid looked like it had been tied by a practicing youngling, his Force presence tasted of unrestrained emotions, and he had an abundance of energy he wasn’t trying to control in the least bit.

He skipped through the corridors just ahead of Obi-Wan, so easily and without instruction that it made Obi-Wan suspect he had studied the route from their quarters to the Halls of Healing specifically for that purpose. Such a cheerful mood was almost unusual for Anakin, so Obi-Wan couldn’t help but smile at the sight before him. It was good to see Anakin happy. It was good that Anakin was finally settling into his new life. Obi-Wan really wanted Anakin to be content with it.

They entered the Halls of Healing, and Anakin stopped.

Obi-Wan stopped beside him and looked down. The astounded look on Anakin’s face was precious. The Halls of Healing took an entire wing of the Temple, and the Main Hall was a sight to behold. A hundred beds were lined against soothing blue-green walls, and numerous Jedi rested on them while Healers bustled around. Pink stone pillars soared to the ceiling, and high windows bathed the enormous room in warm sunlight.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, is that you?”

Who had decided it was _seek-out-Obi-Wan_ day? His old friend Bant Eerin was hurrying across the Hall towards them. Anakin moved closer to Obi-Wan; he was very nearly hiding behind Obi-Wan’s legs by the time Bant reached them.

“Yes,” said Obi-Wan. “It’s me.”

“It’s been a while,” she replied. “How’ve you been?”

He shrugged. If Quinlan Vos knew what happened, then Bant had to at least have heard rumours. “I’m coping.”

“Yes, I heard,” she said. “And—” she crouched down to Anakin’s level— “this must be your new Padawan.” She held out her webbed hand to him.

Anakin moved a bit further behind Obi-Wan’s legs.

“He’s just a little shy,” Obi-Wan said. “He met Quinlan this morning. You know how he can be.” Even though that morning was the quietest Quinlan that Obi-Wan had ever had to deal with, Bant would likely take it to mean that Anakin had just had a quite overwhelming encounter. He crouched down to Anakin’s level. “This is my friend, Jedi Knight Bant Eerin. She’s a Mon Calamari; she comes from a planet that’s entirely water.”

“Entirely?” Anakin asked, looking at her in awe.

Bant smiled kindly. “Yes. The whole thing. All our cities are completely submerged in the ocean.”

“Wow.”

Obi-Wan stood back up. “Anakin is from a desert planet.”

“It’s very dry,” Anakin said. “We have to farm our water drop by drop with moisture vaporators.”

“Sounds awful,” she replied, making a face.

He nodded. “It is.” With that, he took her hand and shook it.

“It’s nice to meet you.” To Obi-Wan, she asked, “What are you up to now? You’re not hurt again, are you? Because—”

“I’m not hurt,” he interrupted her before she could go off about his medical history. Anakin didn’t need to know any of that. “We’re here for Anakin’s new arrival evaluation and an in-depth check-up.”

“You’ll want the main examination room, then.” Bant began leading them across the Hall, speaking to Anakin as they walked. “Evaluations of the new arrivals is done by the Chief Healer herself. Given, new arrivals are never as old as you are, but that just means you definitely need the most experienced eyes making sure you’re in top shape.”

They reached the other end of the Hall quickly enough and Bant punched in a code on the door to the examination room to unlock it. It swished open.

The Chief Healer’s examination room was a bit more advanced than the other standard examination rooms that Obi-Wan saw most often. It had its own advanced scanner or some sort hanging on the ceiling above the bed, and many devices scattered across the desk that Obi-Wan couldn’t identify the purpose of if he tried.

He and Anakin stood in the doorway while Bant crossed the room and hit a button on the panel for the door opposite them. “Master Che,” she said into the speaker, “your new arrival is here for his examination.”

“Thank you, Bant,” said a woman’s voice in return. “You can just let them in and return to your duties. I’ll be out in a moment.”

“Yes, master,” Bant replied, and Obi-Wan noticed Anakin wince. She gestured for Anakin and Obi-Wan to come into the examination room, and once they were inside, she left, giving one last wave as the door swished closed behind her.

The room was absolutely silent, except for the sound of their breathing.

Anakin fidgeted. He spent a lot of time doing that, actually: Obi-Wan had noticed the habit since they’d been together. He was even beginning to tell the difference between what each fidget meant. That fidget was definitely a nervous one.

“You’re going to stay with me, right?” Anakin mumbled, only just loud enough for Obi-Wan to hear.

Obi-Wan nodded. “Of course. I’m your Master. It’s part of my job to oversee that you’re in good health.”

Anakin smiled weakly.

Before either of them could say any more, the office door swished open, and Master Vokara Che stepped through.

Anakin stepped back.

Master Che _was_ an intimidating figure. She was built solidly with sharp features, and always had a strict, severe expression on her face. What Anakin’s eyes seemed to fixate on, however, was her lekku. Obi-Wan, for a moment, didn’t understand why. Anakin grew up a slave in a place where slavery was common— surely he had to have met many Twi’leks, but then it hit him. Anakin had met many Twi’leks, but Master Che was the first ever free one. She wore heavy Jedi robes so unlike what most Twi’lek women, especially the poor slave ones, wore.

“Hello, Padawan Skywalker,” she said. “Knight Kenobi, congratulations.”

Obi-Wan bowed respectfully. “Thank you, Master Che.”

She turned back to Anakin, her eyes examining his body carefully. “You’re not quite in the state that I’d prefer for setting a baseline, but I guess it will have to do. Up, up, onto the bed. Let’s not waste time, Padawan.”

Anakin quickly sat himself on the bed and wasn’t there for more than a second before Master Che was upon him with a scanner in each hand. “No, no,” she mumbled. “That’s not good at all.” She dropped one scanner on the nearest table and picked up another. “No surprise there. Say _ahhh_.”

“Ahhh,” said Anakin, and she shoved a tongue depressor into his mouth to hold his tongue down while she held a scanner inside it.

Just as quickly as the assault started, it ended. Master Che took a step back and began scribbling notes into her datapad.

With a flick of her finger, the larger scanner above them began to lower. “Lay down,” she said.

Anakin complied.

“This one will take a minute. Please relax.”

Instead, he tensed. Obi-Wan reached out to Anakin with the Force to give him a gentle, caring touch, assuring him that everything was still fine. Anakin latched onto Obi-Wan and sent worry in return.

Stepping just a bit closer to Anakin and not removing his touch in the Force, Obi-Wan said, “It won’t hurt at all.”

Anakin took a deep breath, still grasping tightly onto Obi-Wan’s presence, and relaxed just a pinch. He closed his eyes as the scanned began to emit a blue glow and light buzzing noise.

As it continued without incident, Anakin properly relaxed, and Obi-Wan pulled away.

The scanner made a scratching sound when it was finished, which caused Anakin to jump. Master Che just stepped forward and hit a few buttons on the scanner to bring the results up. A holoimage of Anakin appeared before them. Though it wasn’t so much Anakin as his skeleton.

Obi-Wan had seen a few of those types of holoimages before when he’d helped Bant study healing. Immediately, he spotted a few places where a bone had healed incorrectly after being broken, and Master Che began jotting down information again in her datapad. She stepped through the hologram to change it to an image of Anakin’s internal organs, and, looking back down to her datapad, she let out a light gasp.

Anything that got an audible reaction from Master Che couldn’t be good.

She switched the image between Anakin’s bones and his organs quickly a few times, and then began furiously punching on the other buttons. “No, that can’t be right.”

She stopped dead and looked between Anakin and Obi-Wan. “If you’ll both remain here for a moment, I need to analyze this in depth.” And she turned off the hologram and hurried back into her office.

Obi-Wan and Anakin were alone once again.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin whispered.

“Yes?”

He looked to the ground. “I’m scared.”

Obi-Wan’s sat on the bed beside Anakin. He grabbed onto Anakin’s shoulder and squeezed it comfortingly. “I’m sure it’s nothing too severe,” he said, though it took a great effort to keep his voice calm. Obi-Wan was scared, too. “Jedi Healers are the best in the galaxy. If anything is wrong, I’m sure they’ll have no problem fixing it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.” It was only a little bit of lie.

A silence fell between them, Anakin still nervously fidgeting. Obi-Wan wanted to meditate away his worry, but Anakin needed to deal with his worry as well, and meditation still was not yet an option for him. He needed to do something to calm Anakin, but he didn’t know anything about how to calm a nervous child. Jokes? Games? Assigned reading?

“When am I going to get my own lightsaber?” Anakin suddenly asked, drawing Obi-Wan from his thoughts.

Obi-Wan stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Your first lightsaber is quite the trial, and we have to travel quite a ways to do it.”

“But when does that mean?”

“Once you’ve learned, with the training swords, how to not hit yourself, we can begin to consider it, hm?”

Anakin crossed his arms and made an annoyed face. “We haven’t even started that, yet.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “We can start it as soon as Master Che authorizes it.”

Anakin brightened up a bit at that, but not much. The worry that something serious was wrong still swirled through the room, though it wasn’t entirely just from Anakin.

They remained on the bed for another few minutes in silence before Anakin spoke again. “If I knew we’d be waiting here for so long, I would have brought my datapad to take apart.”

Obi-Wan replied, “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you say _take apart_ ,” but he couldn’t help but crack a bit of a grin. “I would’ve liked a datapad to study with, as well.”

The door swished open. “No need for that, boys,” said Master Che. “I’ll be letting you go for now.”

Anakin jumped to his feet. “So, everything is fine?” he asked.

Master Che frowned. “I didn’t say that.”

Obi-Wan stood up and put his hand on Anakin’s shoulder. To Anakin, he said, “Can you please wait outside for a moment, Padawan?”

“But—”

Obi-Wan gave him a harsh look.

“Fine,” said Anakin, and he stepped outside the examination room.

When that door shut behind him, Obi-Wan crossed his arms and said to Master Che, “What is this about?”

She shook her head. “Nothing is certain yet.”

“Tell me,” he replied. “That’s my Padawan. I need to know what’s happening. I need to know what’s wrong.”

She sighed. “Fine.” She pressed the display button on the big scanner again. An image of Anakin’s nervous system was overlaid on an image of Anakin’s skeleton. “Do you see it?”

“See what?”

She hit another button on the scanner, and the image changed again. This time, only slightly. Just around the base of Anakin’s skull, a bit of light shone brighter than the rest of the hologram. Obi-Wan took a step closer to it and narrowed his eyes. “What is that?”

“His slave chip,” replied Master Che.

Obi-Wan blinked. “His slave chip?” He moved so close to it he was almost inside the hologram. “That can’t be easy to remove.” He looked back to Master Che, hoping for a disagreement.

Instead, she sighed in reservation. “It’s worse. Look closer.”

He looked.

Not only was it right in his neck and close to his skull, it was wedged right in between the first two vertebrae of his spine.

“How are you going to get _that_ out?” Obi-Wan mumbled.

She shook her head. “Ideally, we aren’t.”

For a second, he thought he heard wrong, but, no. After all Anakin’s excitement for being able to get the chip finally out, Master Che wanted to leave it in.

His knees felt weak. He stumbled backwards and had to sit down on the bed once again. “Are you certain?”

“I’m going to need to put a lot of work into just disarming the explosive in the chip without causing irreversible nerve damage— because that certainly can’t stay armed. Actually extracting it with all those key systems in the way… he’d be lucky to come out of that surgery _only_ paralyzed.”

“How could it even get there?” Obi-Wan mumbled.

“It was likely implanted when he was an infant, as far as I can tell.” She curled her lip distastefully. “Whoever did it certainly could have killed him, and it was probably through sheer dumb luck that they didn’t. Then, Skywalker’s nervous system grew around it.” She sighed. “I’m going to have to keep a close eye on it in case it moves as he _continues_ to grow. If it does, we’ll certainly have to figure a way to get it out, but as long as it’s doing no harm…”

“It’s not worth the risk,” he finished.

She nodded.

Obi-Wan buried his face in his hands. What was he going to tell Anakin? After that unadulterated glee he’d shown at just the idea of it being removed, how could he just rip that away? Especially after he said that the Healers could deal with anything that came up? Anakin would be heartbroken, and as much as Obi-Wan wished Anakin could have already learned to deal with his emotions, the fact remained that he hadn’t. He couldn’t just meditate it all away.

“Please,” Obi-Wan said quietly, “if you think that it’s in any way possible…”

“Not without a ninety percent chance of permanent paralysis, at best. If you’ll excuse me, Knight Kenobi, I have to analyze this data and plan a disarming operation for your Padawan.”

He looked back up. She was looking at him with an unreadable expression, somewhere between apologetic and sympathetic. He took a slow breath and stood back up. “Thank you, Master Che.” After a quick, polite bow, he left the room.

The door swished shut behind him, locking with an audible click.

Anakin was sitting on the floor just outside, with his back against the wall.

Obi-Wan didn’t say anything for a long minute, and neither did Anakin. They both stayed silent so long that he was beginning to think that Anakin hadn’t noticed him. But then, Anakin looked up, unblinking, and said, “So, how long am I expected to live?

Sitting down beside him, Obi-Wan said, “A long, full life, actually.”

“Then why are you so sad?”

Was he projecting? Obi-Wan realized immediately his own emotions had gotten away from him and pulled them back close. Anakin, as extremely and unconsciously sensitive as he was, could probably still sense everything, but Obi-Wan still didn’t want the prying eyes of all his peers to notice anything was off.

“I do have bad news,” Obi-Wan admitted.

Anakin wrapped his arms around himself. “What are you waiting for?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “What is it?”

Obi-Wan placed his hand on Anakin’s shoulder and squeezed it lightly.

Anakin shifted away from the touch. “Am I not good enough?” He was so quiet, Obi-Wan barely heard him.

“What?” Obi-Wan exclaimed. “No. Don’t worry. There’s nothing wrong with you. That’s not it at all.” He sighed. “Anakin, it’s the chip.”

Anakin turned to face him, eyes wide. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“It’s just, Anakin… the chip isn’t going to come out.”

“What?” He jumped to his feet. “What do you mean?”

“It’s right in your spine. Master Che says the risk is too great.”

“But!” Anakin was yelling, suddenly. “But what about the explosive! You can’t just leave it there!” He threw his arms into the air to punctuate his point.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to neutralize the explosive.” He moved to a crouching position so he could be at eye-level with Anakin. Calmly and slowly, he said, “She’s working on figuring out a way to disarm it. You’ll be safe, I promise.” Very aware that another Jedi could walk down the small hallway to the Chief Healer’s offices and spot them at any moment, Obi-Wan pulled Anakin into a quick hug. Into Anakin’s ear, he whispered, “You’ll never have to worry about that chip again. I promise. It won’t be able to hurt you.”

Anakin pulled away and looked down to the ground. “Can we go back home now?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes, Anakin. Of course.” He reached forward and angled Anakin’s face toward him. Anakin averted his eyes, so Obi-Wan waited. It took a long, quiet minute for Anakin to finally look back to Obi-Wan’s eyes, but when he did, Obi-Wan said, “I am so sorry.”

Anakin, once again, moved away from Obi-Wan’s touch, and he began walking down the hallway. Obi-Wan sighed and stood up to catch back up with him. Together, they headed towards their quarters— their home— but for the first time since Obi-Wan decided to take Anakin as his apprentice, they felt like they were galaxies apart.

When they returned home, he would give Anakin another lesson in meditation. Yes, after an afternoon like that, Anakin needed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **(July 11/2015):**  
>  Huge thanks to my lovely beta, BeautyOnFyre. You're a wonderful help with both catching my flubs and bouncing ideas off. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> **Master Vokara Che:** According to Wookiepeida, an EU/ _Legends_ bit character who was the Chief Healer during the Clone Wars. Ten years before the Clone Wars, I figured she'd be the best candidate for me to use as Chief Healer. Given, she didn't exactly have competition; I couldn't find any other candidates.
> 
> **Anakin's Chip:** If I've got anything too wrong medically, please correct is an example of my choice to make up the actual plot events despite using EU/ _Legends_ building blocks. All my own creation, this issue is going to be a huge driving force in the story and will test Obi-Wan and Anakin's newly established relationship for a long time to come. In another universe, theoretically, Obi-Wan was less involved in this first checkup because he wasn't much attached to Anakin yet, and Anakin fought to get his chip removed no matter the risk, while in this universe, Obi-Wan, not really understanding the symbolic significance this chip continues to have for Anakin, puts his foot down.
> 
> Thank you to all my lovely reviewers. You guys are really the best. I'm so glad you're enjoying reading this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it.


	6. Down

The back of his neck burned. Anakin couldn’t be sure if that was an entirely mental phenomenon or because he’d been scratching at it incessantly at it for at least an hour, as if he could just tear through the skin with his nails and rip the slave chip out from his spine with his own fingers. He could almost feel it inside him, mocking him. And no matter what he did, he would always have that reminder that he was a slave. He’d never be able to scratch it out or even surgically remove it; Anakin would always be a slave.

Obi-Wan wanted him to just meditate that feeling away. Like Anakin could just stop feeling like that if he focused hard enough on breathing. Like he even wanted to just stop feeling that way— because as horrible a feeling as it was, it was all Anakin. It was part of him. It was his own, and the only thing even his master could never take away from him. Would he even be himself anymore if his feelings just went away? Bad or not, he couldn’t just give them up like they were nothing.

After he spent two hours failing at meditation, Obi-Wan had finally let him go, and Anakin had locked himself in his room. There, he sat on the floor, scratching, and trying not to cry.

He wasn’t ruled by his past: he was a Jedi, he could just get over it. He had to just get over it, because that was what Jedi were expected to do. Never mind that Obi-Wan still winced whenever he found something in their apartments that belonged to Qui-Gon; Obi-Wan thought Anakin should be able to just get over it, and that meant that Anakin was a disappointment.

He wanted to go ask for a hug, but, really, that would be admitting defeat. Admitting he wasn’t good enough. Admitting he would never make a good Jedi— all things considered, he _would_ never make a good Jedi— and then Obi-Wan would realize it, too. He didn’t exactly think Obi-Wan would just drop him— Obi-Wan was such a bright person… he couldn’t just drop him, could he?— but what if he did? Anakin was just a slave. He’d never be good enough, so why would Obi-Wan ever want to keep him around anyway? He wasn’t worth Obi-Wan’s time, not the way he was.

If he could’ve gotten that chip taken out, though… maybe then it would be different.

Anakin wrapped his arms around himself tightly and focused on keeping his Force presence held just as closely in case Obi-Wan happened to notice the swirl of emotions through the wall separating them.

He must’ve sat that way for hours, because when he finally gave in to hunger and peeked his head out of the room, Obi-Wan had already retired for the night and the chronometer on the wall was flashing 2200.

Rubbing his eyes, Anakin peeked into the cupboards. Obi-Wan didn’t have the ingredients for anything that Anakin knew how to cook, which meant that Anakin would have to go to the dining hall if he wanted something rather than raw vegetables or ration bars. It wasn’t _that_ late, so that was perfectly reasonable…

His stomach grumbled and he eyed the ration bars, seriously considering them. It was food, after all, and he’d certainly eaten worse in his years. At least ration bars provided all the proper nutrients for their horrible flavour; Anakin had eaten food that was both unsatisfying and disgusting.

His thoughts were beginning to sound suspiciously like his mother’s voice, and with that painful thought intense in his mind, he abandoned the idea of ration bars entirely. He’d definitely have to go to the dining hall.

He walked up to the doors and they opened with a swooshing sound. Anakin stood in front of them for a long second, holding his breath and trying to figure out whether the noise had roused Obi-Wan from his sleep. He couldn’t sense anything different, and he couldn’t hear any sounds of movement, so he crept through the doors and into the hallway.

He was on the other end of the corridor when he realized he left his datapad loaded with a Temple map back in the apartment. Going to get it _was_ an option, but it risked waking Obi-Wan. They’d gone to the dining hall only once— during Anakin’s tour of the Temple— but Anakin did have a decent memory. He could probably find his way there…

He looked down the hallway to the left and the one to his right. If he remembered correctly, it was in one of those two directions.

Anakin glanced down one, and then glanced down the other, hoping to see something familiar that would give him a hint. Both were dimly lit— enough to see, but not anything like how bright they were during the day, probably as some sort of way to encourage Jedi into a particular sleep cycle— but besides that, there wasn’t anything notable about either. They looked just like any other hallway in the accommodation sector, with a simple pattern of tiles on the floors and doors to individual quarters lining both sides of the walls.

He’d just have to choose one. If he chose wrong, he’d be able to find his way back easily enough. Anakin turned left and began walking again.

There was a Jedi walking towards him: a human woman who looked to be about Obi-Wan’s age, with blonde hair tied back behind her head except for her Padawan braid dangling behind her right ear. She stared at him with a raised eyebrows as they passed each other. Anakin considered for a second asking her for directions before deciding against it; he didn’t want to bother her. She had to be coming from somewhere, and where did anyone have to be at such a time besides perhaps the dining hall?

He didn’t pass anyone else, and, three intersections later, Anakin wasn’t any closer to finding a meal. He turned left again and began following that hallway, which twisted and turned unfamiliarly.

He continued on. After turning again, he followed a long hallway for twenty minutes before finding another corner, and then he walked even farther before the one after that. Somewhere along the way, the doors that lined it grew sparse until there were no doors at all and the lights began to grow even dimmer.

Anakin was good and lost, and had ended up in one of those probably almost-uninhabited parts of the Temple that Obi-Wan had warned him about. Carefully, he called out, “Hello?” and waited for an answer.

For a long moment, nothing responded.

“Hello?” he tried again. “Is there anybody out there?”

He turned around on the spot a few times, searching for something, and then realized he wasn’t even sure which way he had come from. The hall looked the exact same in both directions.

“I’m looking for the dining hall,” he said, not expecting the walls to answer. “Am I going the wrong way?” As if that was a question at all. He let out a quiet sigh. Obi-Wan was going to be so angry with him— assuming he could ever find Anakin at all, because the dark hallways and the possibility of going even more astray was beginning to make him think he might be lost in the depths of the Temple forever.

He took a deep breath. He could get back. It couldn’t be that difficult. There had to be some sort of computer terminal somewhere where he could bring up a map. If not, there had to be some sort of protocol for finding Jedi lost within the Temple walls.

And if all else failed, Anakin did have a slave chip and the remote was in his room: it could locate him.

At that thought, he shuddered. He had to get back before anyone thought to use that.

Scratching at the back of his neck, he began walking once more until he found a spot where the hallway split into five different directions. He hadn’t seen that before.

“Hello?” he yelled, just in case.

He’d have to be stupid to go any deeper into the Temple— really, he should’ve stopped ages ago— so he sat down on the floor. He could turn around and head back where he came from, but then again, he wasn’t sure exactly where he came from. He could walk in that direction, but he had no idea what intersections had put him where he was. If he didn’t want to get more lost, he could stay put and wait to be found, but then he’d get in trouble for going wandering, unlike if he managed to find his way back on his own.

There was a whirring sound down the far right hall.

Anakin jumped up. “Hello?”

In the darkness, almost far enough away to be hidden by it, a small droid was rolling in circles. The four wheeled little floor scrubber had orange casing— which was the only thing, save the light glow of his single eye on a long stalk, that made him visible in the dark— but that casing was rusted and cracking. As it moved, the wheels made a scratching noise and his circuits— at least the ones that were exposed and visible— occasionally sparked. He glanced around him. A six-hall intersection would be an easy place to find when he doubled back, if he ventured forward, and especially if he didn’t go far, so he started down the far right hallway.

When he got near to the droid, it turned to face him, and then hurried away, running straight into the wall before moving a foot to the right and… slipping right through it?

He stepped closer to where the droid had disappeared. It wasn’t the wall— it was a small, cleaning-droid-sized hole in the wall that opened into an equally small passageway.

The first thing that came to Anakin’s mind was how much more difficult it would be for Obi-Wan to find him if he began going through droid hallways as well as Jedi hallways, but a droid hallway had to lead to droids, and droids could lead back to Jedi. If nothing else, one of them had to have some sort of map in their memory banks, and if Anakin tried hard enough, he’d probably be able to access it. It didn’t matter if he would be harder for a rescue to find if it led him to being able to find a way back on his own and not need a rescue at all.

Obi-Wan would never know that Anakin had been gone.

The droid passage was just a little too small for him, so Anakin ducked his head and began following it. The continued whirring and scratching sound the droid emitted indicated it hadn’t sped too far ahead. Anakin crept along, hoping not to spook it again so he could get his directions. Maybe even fix it while he was in there; it looked like it needed a good repair job, and not just aesthetically.

“Here, little droid,” Anakin whispered. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know where the dining hall is.”

The whirring noise stopped.

Well, there went that idea.

Anakin took a few more steps, beginning to consider turning back and going back to the last intersection, and then he saw it. The droid was perfectly still in the middle of the passage, facing towards him.

It was waiting.

“Hello.” He reached his hand it towards it, and it backed away. “Like I said, I’m looking for the dining hall. You wouldn’t happen to know where that is, would you?”

The droid moved its broom arm up and down, as if in a nod.

“Really?” asked Anakin. “Could you tell me? Show me? Maybe I could just—”

The droid took off down the hall.

“—take a look at your circuits,” he finished quietly, addressing the darkness.

He scratched the back of his neck and looked around. It was a lot darker in the droid hallway than in the Jedi ones— he would really be better off just returning to those, considering that the droid wasn’t going to be any help after all. No use sitting when he could barely see five feet in front of him and—

The droid had rolled back.

It tilted its scrubber to the side and waved it at him.

Anakin blinked. “Are you… asking me to follow you?”

It made the nodding movement again.

With a smile, he said, “Thank you,” and took a step closer to the droid.

It moved a foot back. Anakin took another step, and it moved again, this time turning to and hurrying. Breaking into a jog, he followed it, being careful to keep his head ducked as to not hit it on the ceiling.

It weaved expertly through a maze of maintenance passages, Anakin just a few feet behind him. There was no way, if the kind droid actually didn’t know where they were going, that he’d ever find his way back. He’d probably starve, all because he was too stupidly stubborn to leave his bedroom while Obi-Wan was still awake and even more stupid to think he could get to the dining hall without Obi-Wan’s help. Obi-Wan was his _master_. Anakin couldn’t do anything without him— not even make decisions about his own body, apparently— so why would he think he could go get a meal on his own? Clearly fate— or, he supposed, if he wanted to be a Jedi, he’d have to call that concept _The_ _Will of the Force_ , according to his reading— wanted him to see he’d never be anything independent. At least, as long as he wanted to live.

Anakin ducked his head under a small frame and stepped out of the hall, the droid waiting a few feet outside it. It made a purposeful, raspy beep that sounded almost proud of itself.

The room was dark. It couldn’t be Anakin’s destination: Obi-Wan had said the dining hall stayed open all hours of the day, for Masters and Knights alike coming back from assignment or going out on assignment or just getting hours of late practice in.

His eyes were pretty well-adjusted to the darkness after his trip in the maintenance passageways, though, so Anakin could make out some outlines. There were tables with benches all over the room, not to mention what looked to be a moderately-sized serving counter directly in front of him. Anakin reached for it and rubbed his finger against it, feeling a thick layer of dust.

He looked down the droid, who made another proud beep.

Frustration welled inside him. He could almost kick that droid for getting him more lost, but— he took a shaky breath— that wouldn’t accomplish anything. It wasn’t the droid’s fault; the poor thing was broken. It couldn’t have known better. For all Anakin knew, that was the only dining hall in the droid’s maps— could it be that old? His history book mentioned that there hadn’t been a renovation of the Temple in a thousand years or so, but perhaps it was old enough it hadn’t been in working order since when that wing was in use. It could have fallen into disuse more recently than the last expansion

Anakin wished that reading his Jedi history book had been a higher priority, because he was only partway through it. Perhaps he’d be able to answer more of his own questions if he had finished it.

“Good try,” he said carefully to the droid, “but if you could perhaps show me to a newer dining hall? One that might be in use right now? I’d really appreciate that—”

The droid made an angry whirr.

“I know, I know,” Anakin said, though he wasn’t quite sure what that whirr had meant. “But I’m really looking for a specific one. The one my master— my, well, Obi-Wan— showed me, so I’ll be able to get back to our quarters afterwards—”

The droid pushed past him and took off down the maintenance passage again.

When Anakin just gawked at it, it stopped long enough to indicate it wanted him to follow before rushing along. He took off after it once more, and followed it a long way. He didn’t feel any nearer to the Jedi in the Temple as they travelled, and Anakin strongly suspected they were just going to surface in another abandoned room. He had begun to regret his terrible decision to follow a broken droid, but at that point, he didn’t exactly have better option, so he continued.

They didn’t surface in an abandoned room.

Instead, the droid had led him to a dead end.

Even better.

He reached for the droid, and it scooted away. “It’s okay, friend.” Moving a little closer, he said in the most soothing voice he could manage, “I’m going to try to fix you a bit, okay? Then we can both head out of here.”

The droid trembled and made a sound of disagreement.

“Don’t worry.” He reached out a hand and left if hovering in the air just short of touching the droid. “I’ve taken apart lots of droids, before, and I promise you’ll be in better condition when I’m done with you.”

The droid moved once more, right up to the wall.

“I’ve even put together a protocol droid from scrap parts back on Tatooine; you’ll be in good hands, I promise.”

The droid plugged itself into a control panel on the wall, still trembling slightly. Anakin hadn’t even noticed the panel was there until that moment.

“What are you doing—”

The floor beneath Anakin was gone, and suddenly he was plummeting down a rusty slide. The little droid’s eyestalk looked down the hole from above, and that was the last thing Anakin saw before the floor— now, he supposed, ceiling— slid shut and left Anakin tumbling through complete darkness.

He tried to grab onto something— anything— and pushed his feet against the tunnel to try to slow his descent. The rusty metal scratched against his hands, and he found his grip beginning to slip every time he touched something, as if his hands were wet. Despite them aching with a sharpening pain and the futility of his effort, he kept trying to stop himself from falling any farther.

He could see the walls before him, only faintly, and it wasn’t the kind of sight that came from his eyes adjusting to the lack of light. From below, there was a soft, off-orange glow illuminating the tunnel, only slightly.

Anakin looked down— the end of the slide approached rapidly. He pushed his feet even harder against the edges, to no avail.

And then for just a moment, he was falling freely, before he crashed hard against the rough ground, which shook beneath him. He let out a yelp of pain in the collision, and then held his breath to keep himself from making another sound.

The deep gashes across his palms leaked blood at an alarming rate, so he pulled off his nightshirt and ripped it into two lengths of fabric to wrap around the wounds. Only once he’d taken care of that did Anakin bother to examine his surroundings.

He hadn’t landed on the ground so much as on a giant pile of garbage. It wasn’t in a compactor or anything like that, though; for as far as his eye could see, trash piles towered up to the ceiling. Each of the peaks of the mounds was underneath the mouth of another tunnel-slide thing—garbage chutes.

Well, there went the possibility of ever being found. He bit his lip and felt his eyes dampen. He couldn’t cry: he was a Jedi! Sniffling, he repeated that mantra to himself a few time, but he was unable to hold the tears back. Frustration welled up inside him— at the Jedi, at the chip, at Obi-Wan, and mostly at himself. He pulled his arms close around himself and sobbed.

He cried because he didn’t know what else to do. How could he be so useless—he couldn’t even get to the dining hall on his own, how could he get back up in the accommodation sector from a garbage pit! He took shaky breath. No, it wasn’t his fault. It was that useless droid. With that thought, he settled into the easy embrace of anger. Why should he blame himself when he wasn’t the one who shoved him down there?

“That broken piece of junk led me to a garbage chute.” Louder, he exclaimed, “A garbage chute!” He stood up and stomped his foot; the trash below him shifted and threw him off balance. He fell down a few feet before the pile stopped moving. Anakin let out a few choice expletives in Huttese. “I’m going to tear it apart and then burn the parts and drop whatever is left _down that garbage chute_.”

More carefully, he scaled down the pile until he found something akin to solid ground. When he reached that, he stomped his feet again, and then kicked a piece of metal in the trash pile. “How broken does your navigation system have to be to mistake a garbage chute for the dining hall—”

What was that sound?

From somewhere, not far away, came muffled voices.

Anakin was saved. Obi-Wan would be so disappointed in him when he got back, but he would get back. There was someone down there— someone intelligent and even organic-sounding— who could lead him back up to the inhabited parts of the Temple. And, if he was lucky, he could take whatever punishment he deserved and then move on. He could forget that he ever thought that leaving alone without his map in the middle of the night was ever a good idea.

He walked towards the source of the voices— the thin layer of trash on the ground crunching beneath his feet— but they didn’t seem to have noticed his approach. As he came close, he realized that it was two voices, a male and a female, and they were arguing with one another.

“—and he’ll never look for it here, I promise,” said the male.

The female responded, voice raised, “How do you know that? He’ll look everywhere. And then, when he finds the speeder, he’ll scour this place for us.”

“We’ll be well hidden by then. Gone, even, if we can help it.”

“Why don’t we just go back?”

“Once we took it and ran, we were committed to going. I thought we went over this, multiple times: no second thoughts.”

Anakin turned a corner and found them. A green Twi’lek woman stood across from a human man so pale it looked like he’d never seen the sun in his life. They were both dressed in ragged, old clothing that was more like Anakin was accustomed to finding on Tatooine than on Coruscant. The man was leaning against what looked to be a speeder except the fact that it seemed to be an amalgamation of mismatched parts. 

“If we go back, we’re dead.”

“But—”

“Excuse me,” Anakin said loudly.

They both turned to him, eyes wide.

Anakin took that as an invitation to continue. “I’m lost. Where are we?”

The Twi’lek and the human exchanged thoughtful looks before the human spoke. Shrugging, he said, “It’s just one of the old abandoned pits.”

Blinking, Anakin replied, “Right. See, I’m looking for a place to eat—”

“You might want to try a more active garbage pit, then, kid,” said the human. “This one doesn’t have anything fresh coming from the surface. Anything edible that was once thrown down here has long since decomposed.”

What? Where on Coruscant had Anakin found himself? Clearly he wasn’t in any part of the Jedi Temple any longer if people were assuming he was looking to eat garbage. And wasn’t Coruscant was the richest planet in the galaxy? How could such a rich planet have any residents so poor they were scavenging for food in trash heaps? “I’m looking for the Jedi Temple, actually,” he said carefully. “I seem to have gotten lost inside and came out here.”

The two, once more, exchanged looks.

“You’re a Jedi youngling?” the Twi’lek asked.

Anakin replied, “Yes.”

The man snorted.

Anakin stared. “What?”

He let out a rambunctious laugh. “You picked a pretty tall tale to tell, kid.”

“Well, it’s the truth.”

“You don’t look a bit like a Jedi youngling,” the Twi’lek scoffed, gesturing to his whole body.

He looked down at himself. Shirtless, with strips of dirty cloth wrapped around bloody hands, pants shredded in odd places from the rusty slide, and covered in dust and grime: he really didn’t look like a Jedi any longer. Even his tiny braid had somehow fallen loose in his struggles. As seriously as he could manage, he said, “Well, it’s the truth. Can you just give me some directions?”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Head to the surface, to start. I hear you can see the place for miles— I’ve never been up there, but if you ever have, you’d know that.”

“Okay,” said Anakin. “But how do I get to the surface?”

They both blinked. “Well,” the Twi’lek said to her friend, “if he doesn’t know that, maybe he really is from the surface. It’s hard to miss that.”

The man shook his head. “No way. I didn’t know how we connected to the surface until I was almost in my twenties.”

The Twi’lek made a face like it was the most absurd thing she’d ever heard. “How did you manage that?”  

He crossed his arms. “It doesn’t matter.” To Anakin, he said, “Looking like that, it’s not like you’d be able to arrange a transport up, anyways. And even if you get onto a transport, there’s a second layer of security meant to keep out the _riff-raff_. You know, people like us. People who look like you do, kid.”

“Let me worry about that,” said Anakin, trying to fake confidence despite having no idea what to possibly do. “You just tell me where to go.”

The Twi’lek nudged the human and made a small gesture towards their vehicle. The human narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and then a wide grin spread across his face.

“Fine,” he said. “The underworld connects to the surface through a series of large ventilation shafts that function as shipping portals. The closest one isn’t too far from here— I can draw you a map, and even let you take our speeder here if you’d like.”

Anakin blinked. That was way too generous, considering that Anakin was, as far as he could tell, in some sort of underground slum. If the slums of Coruscant were anything like the planet-wide slums that the Hutts controlled, like Tatooine, then everyone would be focused on looking after themselves above all else. A speeder— even one that looked more like a poor moisture farmer’s sand-speeder than the ones he’d seen through the Temple’s windows, zipping about the Coruscant airways— wasn’t a thing to just give away. Chances were that they were offering him stolen property they needed to get rid of before its owner showed up, blaster blazing.

But he wasn’t going to get a better offer, stolen property or not. He was a great pilot. All he needed to do was get in the air and he’d be fine.

“I’ll take it,” said Anakin, and a feeling of oncoming doom loomed in the Force. It certainly wasn’t his best idea ever, but it probably wasn’t the worst decision he’d made that night. That honour went to leaving his bedroom in the first place. Obi-Wan could be trusted to feed him at regular intervals, if nothing else, and Anakin hadn’t been hungry enough to justify leaving. He’d eaten that vegetable-nut breakfast thing when he’d woken up; he’d waited a longer time between meals before. Watto had forced him not eat for days as punishment on a few occasions. He’d experienced his stomach aching from hunger until he felt dizzy and faint, while Watto continued to work him as usual. Compared to that, a few hours without food was nothing.

The man tossed him the key, which dangled all alone on a chain except for a single red tag with a small blaster engraved into it. After pulling out a sheet of paper— Anakin hadn’t seen a sheet of paper since his own workshop on Tatooine and had begun to wonder if it was just an outer-rim thing, but apparently it was a poorness thing in general— the man began sketching a rough map, labelling where they were and where Anakin could gain access to the shipping portal. “Be careful not to jump up or down a level, kid,” he said, “I’m just giving you a map of this one and the others are all different.” With a shrug, he added, “If the dash screen wasn’t broken, it could’ve loaded up a map of all levels for you, but it is, so this’ll have to do.” He gave it a quick once-over before handing it to Anakin. “Good luck.”

Anakin hopped into the speeder and shoved the key into the ignition. It took him two tries to get it started, and the Twi’lek giggled at him. Once the engine was running, he gave a wave and a quick, “Thanks,” before taking off in the direction that the map indicated.

The vehicle handled quite differently than anything Anakin had ever flown before. Its look made him expect it would be something like the sand-speeders he occasionally had the opportunity to fly on Tatooine, but despite the controls seeming similar, they weren’t. There were buttons that he had no idea the function of, and some that he thought he recognized and found weren’t what he expected, and only a few that did what he wanted. He knew speeders on Coruscant had to have a system to allow huge changes in elevation, but when he experimentally pushed and pulled on the steering to see if it was a gyroscopic yoke, nothing happened. Either the elevation system was broken— which he doubted, considering what the man had said— or the one he was driving had a different system than the typical speeder or ship used. He had no idea where those controls were and knew he’d have to figure it out before he had to ascend. The dash screen might have been able to provide that information for him— his personal reading indicated they were typically loaded up with their own user’s manuals, though it looked like it was probably a customer speeder built from scratch, so perhaps it didn’t have that— but the display was dark and the glass was shattered.

If it was a customer speeder, it was quite shoddily built. The steering had a half-second delay and the brake only slowed the vehicle rather than stopping it. As he exited the garbage pit and found himself in the middle of traffic, he had to pull the emergency brake to slow himself enough to avoid hitting another speeder.

“Watch where you’re going, sleemo!” yelled the other driver.

“Sorry,” Anakin called, trying to sound apologetic. It was difficult, considering he felt happier and a whole lot more free than he’d felt in a while. For the first time since his appointment in the Halls of Healing, the back of his neck didn’t itch at all.

He’d thought the smoggy, dank quality of the air would have cleared up when he left the garbage pit, but it seemed to permeate everywhere. He was surprised to find that there were ceilings above everything, including the roadway, and when one above the road opened up, he could spot a ceiling in the sky, as well. When that man had said below the surface, he’d actually meant it.

Anakin wished he knew the traffic laws on Coruscant. As he entered the roadways, he tried to blend in, but he couldn’t quite keep the junk heap that he was flying moving as smoothly as the other speeders were. According to the map, he didn’t have too far to go, so at least he had that on his side—

Another rickety speeder swerved in front of him and stopped, right in the middle of Anakin’s lane. He slammed on the brakes and pulled the emergency brake, only just managing to stop short of it. The traffic behind him pulled around unopposed, but when he tried to put it in reverse to back away far enough to move around the stopped vehicle, the driver jabbed a grappling hook into Anakin’s speeder to prevent him from moving any farther away.

The driver stood; his height reached only a bit taller than Anakin himself. With rodent-like eyes, floppy jowls, and large ears, the driver was a Sullustan— a species that every spaceport, including Mos Espa, housed at least a dozen of at all times. He wore dark colours, though they were faded from frequent use, and a heavy jacket. He climbed out of his speeder and sauntered across Anakin’s hood, blasters swinging on each hip and heavy boots making a thudding noise against the metal.

His glare was almost calm, but he radiated unreserved rage.

He drew his left blaster and cocked it to the side. The corners of his jowls crinkled upwards, revealing a crooked grin of yellow teeth. “I think ya have something that belongs to me,” he growled.

Anakin had found the rightful owner of the stolen speeder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **(July 18/2015)**  
>  Huge thanks to my lovely beta, BeautyOnFyre. You're a wonderful help with both catching my flubs and bouncing ideas off. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> **2200:** I checked to see if there was any specific system of measuring time in the Star Wars universe and found that Coruscant has a 24-hour day, that it’s defined by standard hours, minutes, and seconds, and it only gets weird when we start talking about months, weeks, and the length of the year (368 days, for the record). I settled on using military time (the 24-hour clock) to seem just alien enough without effecting readability, with the colon removed for effect. You’ll probably not be seeing a whole bunch of this, but I know I define a few times in the future, so yeah. I might mix it up sometime later by using longer or shorter days on alien planets (should I be defining time at all), but that probably won’t be something you have to worry about in the immediate future. 
> 
> **“Sleemo”:** _(“Slimeball”)_. Did you know Huttese is the second most common language next to Galactic Basic? You’ll probably be seeing a few Huttese words, especially expletives, whenever I write people in the lower levels of Coruscant. Because I feel like the rugged criminals and people who’ve lived amongst rugged criminals would be pretty familiar with the language of gangsters, even deep in the galactic core.
> 
> **Miscellaneous Thoughts:** This chapter was a bit experimental in that it’s so dialogue-light. As a dialogue-heavy writer, Anakin being alone for most of this chapter was extremely weird for me. This chapter and the next chapter were actually supposed to be a single installment, but when I got to the Sullustan’s entrance and realized that I had already written 5K-and-change just to get Anakin out of the Temple, I decided to split it up. Both six and seven have turned out to be difficult for me— seven, for different reasons— and, just a warning, I’m still fighting with a couple scenes in chapter seven right now.
> 
> A huge thanks to all my reviewers. You guys are the best! The best feeling is when I’m struggling through a writing session and one appears in my inbox— it’s the best encouragement to keep going.


	7. Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notice (Aug 8/2015): I'm going on a short hiatus for a few weeks, as I'm currently in the middle of moving. I was hoping to put up one more chapter before the hiatus, but I unfortunately was unable to finish chapter eight before it began interfering with my writing. Hopefully, I'll be able to post again in about two weeks, though I might be on a bi-weekly update schedule when I return because I'll be returning to school after being out for a few years in September.**

Anakin was not having a good day. It started off looking like it was going to be pretty wizard, but then crashed and burned when he learned he’d be forever stuck having a slave chip in his spine. And then, through a cruel twist of fate, he got shoved down a garbage chute and ended up below the city’s surface, driving a stolen vehicle.

With an angry Sullustan standing on his hood and holding a blaster, Anakin was pretty sure that it couldn’t get any worse.

“Get out of my karking speeder, wakamancha peedunky.” The Sullustan waved his blaster angrily.

The words were probably supposed to be intimidating, but as far as Anakin was concerned, the horrible accent he had in his Huttese lessened the effect. Despite that, though, Anakin wasn’t stupid enough to mouth off to a guy with a loaded blaster who was pointing it at his head. He let go of the steering and held his hands to the air.

“Give me one good reason not to shoot ya for stealin’ my racer.”

Anakin nervously shrugged. “I just found it; I didn’t know it belonged to anyone. I thought it was just scrap.” That was close enough to the truth— he wasn’t going to sell the two people in the garbage pit out to such a bloodthirsty man waving a blaster around when they’d clearly been terrified of him.

The Sullustan stepped forward and yanked Anakin out of his seat by his arm. He leaned his face in close— his breath smelled of alcohol— and said, “Ya better tell me where I can find my pilots, then.”

“Look,” said Anakin, “there wasn’t anyone near it. It was just in an alley— I was lost, and still am, actually, so I can’t even really tell you which one.”

He tried to look apologetic, but judging by the Sullustan’s angry and mocking response, he hadn’t succeeded. “Who’s gonna race for me, then, you?”

That caught Anakin’s attention immediately. A race! Perhaps his luck had begun to turn around. After such a day as he’d had, there was nothing that would make him feel better more than a good race.

He still had lots of time before Obi-Wan woke up to find him missing; at that point a little extra detour couldn’t hurt, so he said, “I could.” He loved racing more than almost anything, and he could work it to his advantage, too. “For a small… price.” He tried to imitate the greedy grin that he so often saw on Watto’s face when Watto wanted something.

The Sullustan laughed. “Good one, punk. Now get out of my racer and stop karking with me.” He tossed Anakin away. When Anakin’s shoulder collided hard against the hood of the speeder, the entire speeder shook in the air. He desperately clawed at the metal to keep from falling down the bottomless pit that was the roadways.

As the Sullustan climbed into the driver’s seat, Anakin crawled across the hood back towards the cockpit. “I don’t see you getting any better offers,” Anakin countered, keeping his voice steady and strong. “I’ve raced pods before— racing speeders has gotta be easy compared to that.” He hoisted himself over the windshield and into the passenger’s seat.

“Podracin’, eh?” asked the Sullustan. “Heard that’s illegal all across the Republic.”

Anakin raised his eyebrow. “I don’t think you’re really someone who cares all that much about the laws of the Galactic Republic.”

The Sullustan began laughing heartily. “Ya got that right, then, I s’pose.” After a short second, he continued, “Alright then, seein’ as I got no better offer, what’s that price of yars?”

With a shrug, Anakin said, “I’m trying to get up to the surface, actually. Think you could help?”

“The surface?” The Sullustan laughed even harder, but when Anakin only stared seriously at him, he stopped. “Ya’re serious? The surface?”

Anakin nodded. “I don’t care how you do it— pay the transport fee or whatever, or get me a speeder to take myself up or something— but that’s where I’m going.”

Eyes narrowed, the Sullustan said, “Ya’re some surface kid, then, aren’t ya? Thought ya talked like one. Haven’t quite got that accent mastered ta blend yarself in. Let me give ya a little hint: yar voice is soundin’ a little more like _Outer Rim_ than _Lower Coruscant_ and yar words are just like surface folk.”

The corners of Anakin’s mouth twisted upwards— the Sullustan had no idea.

 _“_ Got a little lost down here? Does mommy know where ya’ve gone?”

“That’s none of your business,” said Anakin.

“Nah,” said the Sullustan. “See, if ya’re gonna be racin’ my speeder, ya can’t be soft. This is street racin’. Ya gotta be tough ta survive— and tough not ta get caught and arrested. Notta mention tough ta win.”

Anakin crossed his arms. “Do we have a deal?” he asked.

The Sullustan rolled his eyes. “I’ve already paid my part of the pot— if I didn’t already have money ridin’ on this, ya’d be gone. Better— ya’d have a blaster bolt in yar head.”

Anakin grinned. Yeah, his luck had turned around.

Throwing the speeder into reverse, the Sullustan easily shook off his own grappling hook, and then began driving.

 “What about that other speeder?”

The Sullustan scoffed. “It’s just stolen junk.” As they began rushing through traffic, he said, “Name’s Jav. Jav Jiak.”

“I’m Anakin.”

“Well, then, Anakin. How’d ya get down here?”

Anakin shrugged. “Just an accident.”

“Some accident.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Jav glanced to him. “Ya know, ya’re talkin’ way too upper levels, peedunky. Ya’ll get the druk beat out of ya if ya don’t stop.”

Anakin threw his feet up onto the dashboard and leaned back in his seat. He cleared his throat and then, experimentally laying on his accent heavier than ever before and letting a few words of Huttese slip in, he said, “Eniki, eniki. Mi found this thing abandoned inna alley an mi thought it was scrap.”

Jav raised his jowl in a disapproving expression, looking away from the road to give Anakin a quick glare. “Too much, kid. And way too _Outer Rim_.”

“Well,” said Anakin, “ _Outer Rim_ is the only accent I know how to do. You’re the one who started this all off with Huttese. Take it or leave it.”

Jav sighed. “Whatever.” He reached into his clothing to pull out a small bottle— when he unscrewed it, Anakin got a whiff of strong alcoholic smell. “Just don’t make a fool of me.”

They weaved through the traffic and then dived down, descending through five layers of roadways before leveling out and continuing on, and then descending ten more layers gradually after that. Anakin’s map would be useless, and that barely bothered him at all. It didn’t matter, because he was going to get the chance to race again.

Everywhere he looked, it was a slum. He saw houses that looked more run-down than any slave quarters he’d seen, and stores that looked more dangerous than ones owned by Hutts. If Anakin thought the garbage pits he’d originally landed in had looked gross and dangerous, it was nothing on the few presumably active ones they passed along their way. He could tell where they were there entirely by smell. The lower they went, the less speeders they saw, until it seemed that the entire population was getting around by foot on the pedestrian walkways lining the streets.

As they moved, a few loose metal parts banged around at Anakin’s feet. He could guess what quite a few were probably for with a quick glance, but others were a complete mystery. A roll of repair tape tumbled around amongst the parts, but nothing else that could be used for actually installing them. If the entire speeder was held together by repair tape, that wouldn’t surprise Anakin in the least.

It was much darker, where they landed. Half the streetlights were burned out and the nearby signs flickered and sparked dangerously. Most of the light didn’t come from the environment, but rather, from small lights carried by the pedestrians. All around the ramshackle parking platform that Jav had parked on, they loitered. A rainbow of species in rag-like clothing surrounded other rickety speeders with dirty pilots, and quite a few rugged, armed men stood around like they had authority. Jav hopped out of the speeder, muttering quietly to Anakin, “Stay here.” Before he walked away, he looked over Anakin critically, and then reached into the backseat of the speeder and pulled out a dirty, Sullustan-sized shirt. “And put that on. Ya look like a fool walkin’ around shirtless.”

Anakin threw the shirt over his head— it was a bit too large for him, but not too much, and it smelled of sweat and engine grease— and turned his attention back to his surroundings. Jav was walking across the parking platform: quite a few people moved out of his way when they spotted him.

The crowd radiated excitement, but the pilots were shining beacons of fear mixed with anger and determination. The thing that worried Anakin, though, was what the armed men felt like— well, it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling to Anakin, but it wasn’t one he revelled in encountering again. Their coldness sent a shiver down Anakin’s spine, and their greed made him sick to his stomach.

Jav approached the closest one.

“Looks like ya made it in time, Jiak,” the man exclaimed, clapping Jav on the back. “But where’re yar pilots?”

Jav shrugged casually. “I got a replacement. Who’s takin’ the bets tonight?”

The man gestured towards a blue Twi’lek male with a large shoulder bag at his feet. Without another word, Jav approached the Twi’lek. Anakin didn’t hear a word that was spoken between them, but after a heated discussion, Jav handed over a chunk of credits and then returned to Anakin.

“What was that?” Anakin asked, trying to sound casual.

Jav shrugged. “Well, I was makin’ some insurance. I bet against ya, so I can get some money my way whether ya win or not. Ya know, like that thing about eggs and baskets?”

Anakin blinked. “Right.” That didn’t scare him at all. “So, uh, what’s the course?”

“It changes every week!” Jav exclaimed, waving his hands in the air enthusiastically. “They send out the map ta all the speeders just a second before the race begins.” Jav blinked. “Speakin’ of that…” He climbed into the speeder and tapped on the cracked glass of the dead dashboard screen. It remained blank. Turning back to Anakin, he asked, “Ya wouldn’t happen to know a thing or two about fixin’ speeders, would ya?”

Anakin shrugged. “I’ve never seen this model, but I could try.”

Jav grinned. “Great. Perfect. Fix that screen, or ya’ll be outta luck.”

Pulling the cover off the dash, Anakin began fiddling with the wires. It wasn’t going to be a good repair job, but he shifted them around until the screen lit up, and then, using a piece of repair tape, he secured it in place. “There.” He stuck the dash cover back on and tapped the screen. It flickered, but continued to display its default image. Anakin smiled proudly.

“Good on ya, peedunky.”

“So,” said Anakin. “You were telling me about how the race works?”

“Right,” said Jav. “Ya’ll line up, get that, and then they’ll tell ya to go. We’ll be waitin’ here, watching yar progress on our holos— those’re hooked up to your dash, so we see everything the whole way. First one to get through two laps without dyin’ or gettin’ caught wins. I paid into the pool for ya, so I get most of it, and then ya get yar cut of the winnin’s too. Ya can use it ta pay the fare of a transport to the surface and any officials that try ta send ya back because you look like,” he gestured to Anakin’s entire body, “that.”

Right, right— he needed a way back to the surface. He couldn’t just race and not worry about that: he’d get taken advantage of. “Alright,” said Anakin, “but you have to drive me to where I can catch a transport, then. Whether I win or not.”

Jav stared at him for a long moment before giving in. “Fine, fine. I’ll do that.” With a cruel twinkle in his eyes and his presence, he added, “That is, assumin’ ya reach the finish ta see me again at all.”

“I’ll finish,” said Anakin. “You worry about the rest.”

The blue Twi’lek yelling, “Racers, take your positions,” interrupted their conversation. Jav jumped back out of the speeder, and Anakin shuffled into the driver’s seat and started the engine. He followed the other speeders to the street— there were nine others in total— and they lined up across its width in two rows. The cracked screen on his dashboard suddenly displayed an unfamiliar map, with a route highlighted. Two laps around that route— that couldn’t be too difficult. It couldn’t be any worse than podracing.

Another Twi’lek was standing just at the side of the road— a woman, scantily dressed in black and reminding Anakin all too much of a slave dancer— and holding up a sign with the word “wait” displayed on it.

“Three!” she shouted, the sign changing to display the numbers she spoke. “Two!” She stepped a bit farther away from the line of speeders. “One!” A large, but almost fake grin, spread across her face. “Go!” And the racers took off, Anakin with them.

Though Anakin reacted instantly, he still found himself immediately at the back of the group. The other racers pulled forward just a bit more quickly and all moved neck-in-neck across the roadway, leaving Anakin no room to push past them. He followed just a few meters behind, the steering shaking beneath his fingers at such a high speed.

Though his podracer had been practically in pieces when he reached the finish line that one time he’d actually finished, the shaking steering worried Anakin more than any mid-flight issues he’d ever had before. He’d known his podracer inside-out, but, this speeder, he didn’t know at all. Something, somewhere, had to be loose, but he couldn’t know whether it was just some minor part or actually a vital part that was causing the problem. Anakin really didn’t want the rickety speeder to fall apart in the middle of a race, and he didn’t trust it not to.

He loosened his grip on the wheel, just to temporarily relieve the vibrations in his bones, and watched the road in front of him. He hadn’t expected the other racers to give him room in the ten seconds his attention had been on his speeder rather than the race, but it would’ve made things so much easier. Every bit of him wished he’d actually bothered to pay attention to Jav’s driving when he _knew_ that he didn’t know how to make the speeder go up or down. If he had, then he’d be able to just go over or under the pack and push into front right then and there. But seriously, why didn’t it just have gyroscopic steering?

He glanced at the dash screen— they were approaching the first turn. At ninety degrees, it looked like Anakin would have to decelerate to take it, because he didn’t have the room to maneuver it at a high speed without crashing. That was the thing about the Coruscant roadways, both below and above the surface— there was no such thing as a turn that wasn’t surrounded by skyscrapers to crash into if one took it too wide.

None of the line of speeders in front of him slowed like he did. They sped on just a bit longer before their speeders screeched around the intersection at angles that Anakin didn’t think such vehicles could even make. As he meandered around it— compared to them, at least— he realized that no way was his podracing experience going to help him where he was.

He sped up.

The good thing about the turn was that it broke up the line of racers. A few were battling it out at the front of the pack— the driver in second place had positioned himself directly underneath the leader, and another speeder was trying to push past from above.

Anakin grinned to himself— a broken pack was the thing he needed. He took a breath and pushed the car even harder, gripping the shaking wheel tightly and weaving around the speeders at the tail end of the group to take a position just within the pack.

Anakin took another deep breath and began pushing even farther along—

He was boxed in.

When did that happen? It wasn’t like that a second ago. A speeder had settled on Anakin’s right and another on his left as well as one up front, all keeping pace with him precisely. Anakin couldn’t quite curb the rush of panic that came with that realization. The driver in the speeder in front turned around just long enough to make an obscene gesture before pushing farther ahead, and in the corner of Anakin’s eye he noticed the second-place racer standing in his cockpit, shoving something into the leader’s engines from below.

The speeder on Anakin’s right nudged just a bit closer, as did the one on his left. At once, they both crashed against him, jolting the vehicle midair, and throwing Anakin’s head against the wheel. He was pretty sure his light reading had indicated that there were supposed to be safety measures against that, but those safety measures also made it impossible to continue driving after a collision, so of course illegal underground street racers would have that removed from their speeders. How could Anakin have possibly thought otherwise?

He threw his head back, ignoring the pounding feeling of having just slammed it against something, and took a careful breath. He was a pilot— he was an experienced racer.

And he usually trusted his instinct, but that would be absolutely no use in an unfamiliar vehicle on an unfamiliar track with an unfamiliar ruleset.

The leader spun out, engine smoking, and crashed down against another parking platform, and was that sirens that Anakin heard in the distance?

The other pilots immediately moved away from Anakin and pulled far ahead. Glancing at his dash to see another turn coming up, Anakin prepared to take it as widely as the streets would let him.

Checking his mirrors, he was surprised to find that the two speeders he’d been ahead of had disappeared. He was pretty sure they couldn’t have passed him in the road-hogging chaos that was a bunch of speeders boxing him in, so where had they gone?

The speeders ahead of him had disappeared, too, which was even stranger. He was so sure they were just there and that the turn wasn’t for another— wait, no, there it was. Anakin pulled the wheel and felt it strain against the movement. The speeder swooped over the walkway lining the street— the few pedestrians screamed as they dived to the ground— and scraped against the solid metal of a building. Anakin clenched his teeth and gripped so tightly that his knuckles whitened, and pulled with all his might.

The speeder, too slowly for Anakin’s taste, moved away from the building, off the sidewalk, and back into the road.

He let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding and pushed the pedal against the floor. The three vehicles that had been boxing him in were just ahead of him, casually competing with each other. He could get past them before they even realized that they hadn’t lost him.

He pushed even harder and felt the entire speeder shudder. That couldn’t be good, but Anakin didn’t get the chance for his thoughts to linger on that, because he was swerving around the other three speeders and pulling ahead, and they weren’t taking that so well. He could feel the pilots’ frustration in the Force as they accelerated even faster to catch back up to him.

Anakin could swear that siren sound was getting closer, but he couldn’t exactly figure out what it was. As far as feelings in the Force went, the sound seemed to have the other pilots tense, but— oh stars, the next turn was already upon him. Anakin reacted just a second before he saw what he needed to react to, and he drifted around the corner so easily and naturally— just like he was racing a pod.

Instinct— it wasn’t instinct, was it? It was the Force.

And the Force didn’t depend on previous knowledge or experience of the Jedi— it was premonition.

Another turn— Anakin  rushed through it, pushing the brake at just the right moment and turning at just the right second to stay in the roadways the entire time and not lose his place. He glanced in the mirror again, and only two of his previous rivals remained on his tail, and they were much farther away than he would have expected.

He was approaching the last turn of the first lap, and just in the distance, he could see the next racer ahead of him. Assuming that he wasn’t passed without realizing it at some point, he would be in fourth place, which meant he had only three more speeders to overtake to get first.

He accelerated, feeling the speeder rock beneath him.

He really didn’t trust it. He tried to feel the machine with the Force to figure out what was wrong, but the disconnected mess of information that came back to him couldn’t be made sense of on the track. His attention was still just as much on the streets as the speeder itself, and he wasn’t familiar enough with the speeder to figure out what he needed to do to fix it with only half of his attention and on the go.

“Go, go, go,” Anakin mumbled as he continued to accelerate.

The siren sound in the background hadn’t gone away.

“C’mon!”

The speeder ahead of him hit the turn, and they made it look so natural and easy.

Anakin spun the wheel, pumped the breaks, and then slammed the accelerator. As he breezed past the starting point into the second lap, he let out a loud, excited yell.

Past the next speeder— through the next turn— seriously, what were those siren sounds?

His vehicle shuddered once more and the display screen went dead. “That’s not good.” He slammed his fist against the dash, and the screen flickered before returning to its dead state.

Anakin was racing blind. He looked back to the road and tried to spot either the next racer or the next turn in the distance, but didn’t see either. That was bad. That was very bad.

He glanced back over his shoulders and then let out another swear. On his tail was a navy-blue speeder with flashing lights, being driven by a droid; he was willing to bet that was some sort of traffic law enforcement. At least he’d figured out where the siren was coming from.

He accelerated once more. In the distance, he spotted the next turn. A wicked grin spreading across his face, he accelerated once more. He knew exactly how he was going to lose them. He hit the turn at an incredible speed and clenched his teeth as he pulled around it— the pursuing speeder had to slow to take it, and Anakin took that short moment when he was out of the droid’s sight to pull into the first alley and park. He killed the lights and waited.

The police speeder sped right past.

Anakin took a deep breath, in and out. That was an entirely new addition to racing. He’d never exactly been part of a legitimate and safe race, but had also never been actively pursued by any law enforcement about it. Getting arrested was definitely at the bottom of Anakin’s list of things to do on the way back to the Temple— and considering that risk, racing had just been moved from its spot at the top.

He couldn’t bail, though. Well, he could— and he could even take the speeder with him, because he was sure he could be far away before Jav could catch up with him— but winning, and therefore having money, would make his return to the surface so much easier.

A racer blew by his alley, and he started his engine again. Anakin Skywalker never just surrendered a race. He would finish, risks aside, and he would win.

He pulled back out and let himself be consumed by the feelings in the Force, just like if he was podracing. He passed one speeder— turn— getting passed and then passing again— turn— turn— and before he knew it he was in the final stretch, with two speeders ahead of him and the police speeder nowhere in sight. He couldn’t even hear the sirens in the distance. Anakin slammed on the acceleration and pulled as close as he could.

The other speeders were neck-in-neck, both hogging the roadway at the same level of elevation and trying to push in front of each other. Anakin couldn’t fit in between them if he tried. He could see the finish, and it was approaching at an incredible rate. The time he had to get in front could be measured in seconds, not even minutes. Anakin needed to get in front of those speeders.

But that wasn’t going to make Anakin Skywalker give up. He had won the Bonta Eve Classic— a little street race was nothing compared to that.

With that determined thought, he knew exactly how he was going to get past them. He let out a breath and reached into the Force, looking for direction, and then he pulled one of the levers to his right, as if he’d known all along what it would do.

The speeder shot upwards and he slammed the acceleration, passing the other speeders from above, and then pushed the lever back into place to settle in front of them.

For one glorious moment, Anakin was winning.

The finish was only seconds away, and one of the other speeders slammed into him to push itself ahead, and then they were on the other side of the line. Anakin slammed onto the break.

The driver of the speeder ahead— a Dug, of all things— threw his legs into the air in celebration and let out a loud screeching sound of triumph.

Anakin pulled the speeder back onto the parking platform. He hadn’t won. After all that— after setting himself farther back from the Temple. He wasn’t good at anything. When he stopped, Jav hurried over to him while the crowd mobbed the Dug. Probably to give him a well-deserved hit and—

Jav’s hand flew into the air— Anakin flinched— and then it came to a rest almost comradely on his shoulder. He squeezed lightly, almost like Obi-Wan sometimes did, and then pulled it away. “Wow, kid— I’m actually impressed. Second place. Ya did better than I could’ve expected.”

What?

Climbing out of the driver’s seat— when he stood on stable ground, his legs felt like jelly and he had to keep holding onto the speeder for a minute to keep himself from losing balance— Anakin tried to grin. “I told you that I can race.”

“Yeah, yeah, yar a great pilot— blah blah— I wanna talk ta ya about racin’ for me on a more permanent basis.” Jav rested his hand on Anakin’s shoulder once more and pulled him close. “I think we really got somethin’ here, kid. If this is ya when ya’ve never raced a speeder in the streets before, I can’t wait to see what ya race like with a little more experience.”

Anakin shuffled uncomfortably on his feet and slipped out of Jav’s grip. “I really have to go back home—”

“There’s a race every week. Ya can go home. Then ya can come back.” A greedy grin spread across Jav’s face and he flared eagerness and confidence. “Me and ya— we could make a great team in these things. If we start winning, we can even upgrade the racer and win even more— make some money on these things for once!”

“That’s nice and all, Jav, but I really have to—”

A group of armed men were approaching them. Anakin shut his mouth and watched them carefully, not letting his attention stray from their presence in the Force. They didn’t feel particularly bloodthirsty at that moment, but Anakin wanted to be ready to react immediately in the event that changed.

Anakin moved a bit closer to Jav. He didn’t exactly feel friendly and nice, either, but at least Anakin knew that Jav was attempting to invest in him and so wouldn’t likely fill him full of blaster bolts, at least for a few more minutes. He trusted Jav about as much as he had trusted Watto, but at least that was more than he trusted random thugs off the streets.

“Congratulations, Jiak,” one of the men said. He stepped forward and handed Jav a small sack that jingled when it moved. “I dare say that’s the best ya’ve ever done. Second place— that’s worth a small cut of the pot.”

Jav glanced inside the sack and showed off his yellow teeth in a grin. “Well, boys, I got myself a new pilot.” He gestured towards Anakin. “Things’ll be changing around here with him around.”

One of the other men snorted. “Beginners luck,” he said under his breath.

Anakin wanted to argue, but knew better than that. He held his tongue.

The first man continued, “We’ll see about that, but for now, enjoy yar winnings.” He waved his hand dismissively. “See ya next week.”

Jav waved, almost politely, and then turned back to Anakin. “Ya gonna let them get away with that attitude, or are ya coming back to prove them wrong next week?”

Anakin scratched the back of his neck. “Look, I’ll think about it, okay. But I didn’t mean to come down here and I don’t even know if I could find my way back again if I tried.” Not to mention that if Obi-Wan realized where Anakin had gone, chances were, he’d be locked up in the Temple for the rest of _forever_.

Jav’s wrinkled his jowls with distaste. “Is that the best ya can give?” he said, crossing his arms and glaring.

“Yeah,” said Anakin, “it is.” He glanced at the chronometer on Jav’s wrist— it read 0231. “It’s about time I start heading back, you know. I believe you promised me a ride?”

Jav scowled. “Ya not even gonna stay for the party? There’ll be some drinkin’ and—”

Drinking? Anakin? What kind of people had he gotten himself involved with? He was almost tempted to agree, because there was no way he’d be getting another chance to drink alcohol before he was at least a teenager, but he remembered the horrible feeling the morning he had to go to work after Kitster had stolen some and the pair of them had drunk all of it. “No,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jav mumbled. “Whatever. Course, surface folk don’t know how to have a proper good time.” He climbed into the driver’s seat of the speeder and gestured for Anakin to join him. “I wanna be back here quickly, myself, so get the kark in.”

Anakin once more climbed into the passenger’s seat and strapped himself in. Jav took off quickly and pushed through and around traffic as they weaved through the streets.

“You know,” said Anakin, “you’re not such a bad driver yourself.” Especially after drinking the amount of alcohol that Anakin suspected that, judging by his smell, he’d had.

Jav glanced at him, his eyes guarded. “So?”

“Why don’t you race your own speeder?”

He snorted. “Ya kiddin’ me, right?” When Anakin didn’t flinch or falter, Jav said, “I don’t wanna die or get myself arrested, ya know?”

“So it’s completely fine to let other people risk that for your profit?” Honestly, the man was growing more and more distasteful every minute that Anakin kept his company.

“Man’s gotta eat somehow,” said Jav. “And I’m payin’ ya for it.” Jav didn’t even seem to realize how horrible he was. At least most of the goons on Tatooine knew they were scum. They understood what they were doing was wrong and they did it anyways, but Jav spoke like it was perfectly okay to be willing to risk someone else’s life in a job that he wasn’t willing to do himself. Taking one hand off the steering wheel, Jav reached into the bag and pulled out ten credit chips. He handed them to Anakin. “There ya go. A whole third. Pretty generous, ain’t it?”

A third? Given, Anakin really had no idea how much one of the chips was worth: they were, to him, a completely new currency and in an unfamiliar economy. But still, a third of the pay for doing all the hard work wasn’t something Anakin thought sounded right.

Jav still had his guns within reach and was grinning like he was proud of himself, so Anakin held himself back from arguing. He could just take the money and then head to the surface. He’d never have to deal with Jav again— he almost wished that he never let himself get involved with the man in the first place, but at least it was over. Race or not, the people Anakin had met were as horrible as the average criminal on Tatooine. He didn’t know why he hadn’t expected that.

Racing had felt pretty stellar, though— he had no regrets about that. He’d missed that sensation immensely. The wind in his hair, a piece of heavy machinery at his command, and the Force screaming helpful instructions in his ear— and he could just let everything go and be taken away by the experience. He didn’t have to worry about being a disappointing Jedi. He didn’t have to worry about not being able to let his problems into the Force. He didn’t worry about what Obi-Wan would think, and he didn’t think about the chip—

He scratched at the back of his neck

—the chip that could still explode him from the inside out. The chip that was stuck inside him forever because of what he’d been born into. The chip that would never let him forget where he’d come from. That he was different from the rest of the Jedi. That he would never be like them and that he didn’t properly or fully own himself like a person born free owned themselves.

“Don’t tell me that yar parents give you a greater allowance than a hundred credits, surface boy,” Jav broke the silence with a disgusted scoff.

Anakin shrugged. “I don’t really deal with currency directly much.” Any longer, that was— though, never Republic Credits. Watto let him deal with finances pretty often; Anakin’s mother had been brilliant at dealing with money and had been teaching Anakin how to do so since he was very young. He remembered being very young, sitting in front of Watto’s business ledger, his mother quietly telling him that if Anakin didn’t have a load of marketable skills, he’d one day find himself being marketed for other things. When he was a kid, he hadn’t understood that.

“Oh,” said Jav. “Yar one of those surface kids. Ya just have to ask for what ya want and mommy and daddy will buy it for you without ever havin’ to think about the costs for yarself.”

Anakin didn’t contradict him.

“Well, don’t ya want some credits that could be just yars? Ta buy stuff without asking yar parents for? For things they wouldn’t exactly approve of? I’m givin’ ya a way ta get that.”

Anakin crossed his arms. “I said I’d think about it, okay? You’re not going to get anything better than that. Not at the moment, at least.”

Jav pulled over the speeder.

“I said—”

“I know what ya said. We’re just at the transport station.”

“Oh,” said Anakin. “That’s… that’s great.” He threw the speeder door open and unbuckled himself. Climbing out, he added, “Thanks for that ride, then.”

Jav nodded. “I’m thinkin’ of it as an investment, kid. One that I hope’ll pay off for me.” He reached into his jacket and produced the map that Anakin had been given earlier by Jav’s pilots in the garbage pits. Jav’s eyes flickered from the map to Anakin knowingly, but there was no threat behind it. Anakin hadn’t even noticed when Jav had gotten a hold of it— he hadn’t even noticed that the map was gone. Jav pulled out a pen and scribbled across the back. Handing the paper back to Anakin, he said, “This is my comm number.”

Anakin raised an eyebrow.

“The next race will be next week, today. If I’ll be sponsorin’ a pilot for my racer, I’ll need to add my money to the pool the day before the race. Give me a shout by then if you wanna come back and do it again, okay?”

Anakin snatched the paper and shoved it into his pants pocket, trying not to look too much like he planned to throw it away at the first possible chance. Checking his pockets for his credits as he walked away— just in case— Anakin proceeded towards the thing he suspected was the loading docks for the transports. It had the words _Loading Docks_ scrawled across the sign in bright letters, so it was a pretty good possibility.

There was a ticket booth right beside the door. Anakin approached it. “I’m looking to go to the surface…”

“That’ll be twenty credits, kid,” said the woman in the ticket booth.

Anakin pulled out a few chips and carefully picked out two to hand to her. He waited for her to say anything about needing more, but she didn’t. Instead, she simply tapped a few things on her screen and waved him through the door.

The transport to the surface went simple enough. He watched through his window as they ascended through a large, round pipe. Above, Anakin could see the Coruscant sky, characterized not by stars or by darkness but by light followed by emptiness. The scuzzy feeling of greed and desperation that was so much like being on Tatooine faded away and was replaced by that feeling of content crowds of people. Anakin relaxed into his seat and didn’t move.

Once he and the other passengers unloaded from the transport, he had to walk through a security checkpoint. He slipped the one eyeing him up a handful of credits. The guard raised an eyebrow, and when Anakin regretfully slipped him more, they let him past. He let out a sigh; he hadn’t even seen the fares for surface transports, and he was already down almost half his earnings. At least, if all else failed, he had heard the Jedi Temple was visible for miles. He could find it on his own if he had to.

He found the proper terminal for travel around the planet. After that it was easy enough to find one that dropped off nearest the Jedi Temple, and Anakin paid only ten credits in fare to get there.

He ducked around Temple guards, and hurried inside. The air was losing its crisp nighttime feel; in its place, a damp feeling of dawn had begun to settle. It was still dark, though he could tell morning was just on the horizon. He raced through the main halls, hoping with all his heart that no Jedi were awake and wandering to find him by chance, and quite easily navigated the route from the front door to the Accommodation Sector.

From there, he reached out with the Force purposefully to feel for Obi-Wan. He was close enough that he could pinpoint exactly where he was, and followed that feeling all the way back to their apartments. He wished he'd thought of that before he had gone too far away to do it in the first place. 

He slipped into his room and flopped down on his bed, breathing deeply.

He could deal with his wounds and with his state of dress in a few hours when his day began. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, hunger aside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notes (July 25/2015):**  
>  Huge thanks to my lovely beta, BeautyOnFyre. You're a wonderful help with both catching my flubs and bouncing ideas off. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
>  **“Wakamancha peedunky”:** _“Cowardly punk”._
> 
>  **“Druk”:** An unidentified-ly alien word that’s been used as an equivalent for “shit” according to my internet searches.
> 
>  **“Eniki, eniki. Mi found this thing abandoned inna alley an mi thought it was scrap”:** _“Okay, okay…”_. Fun fact, this is a shout-out to an earlier version of this scene where Anakin tries way too hard to impress Jav with an exaggerated accent. This is an actual, serious line from the first version of the scene… and let’s just say that it didn’t really work. In the final cut, Jav commented on Anakin’s real, natural “accent”— he thinks that the one Anakin does have is a bad imitation meant to make him sound tough— but it’s Anakin’s POV so it’s not like he’d notice his own accent himself.
> 
>  **Jav Jiak:** And finally we come across a role in the story that I can’t really fill with an existing character. Jav Jiak is an OC, and his name comes from both me and my lovely beta studying Sullustan naming patterns until we could make up something that fits into the Star Wars universe and can be easily remembered. My original fiction always has a character named “Jack”, so I’m both proud and disappointed in myself that I mutilated that name to use it here. 
> 
> **A thought about the Garbage Pits from the last chapter:** When Anakin came out down there, I seriously considered that the thing that would make the most sense for Anakin to get involved with would be “pit racing”, which is a type of racing in garbage pits that Anakin apparently got involved with in the EU/ _Legends._ Unfortunately, I’m not brave enough to write a form of racing that actually exists without actually reading its source material, so Anakin ends up involved in street racing instead.
> 
>  **“Next week, today”:** Coruscant weeks are five days, according to Wookiepedia. Just to give you a better understanding of how time’s passing.
> 
> This chapter as well as chapter six was entirely made up of Anakin making stupid and thoughtless decisions in the aftermath of an all-day long— off-screen— angst-fest in his bedroom about his slave chip. Next time, Anakin’s back in the Temple and having to actually face his shit rather than avoid it. I’ve missed Obi-Wan’s POV immensely: I hope you’re as excited to see him back as I am. Also, a huge thanks to all my reviewers: you guys are the very best and it’s always encouraging to hear your thoughts!


End file.
